


Never Have I Ever

by sohox



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Anal Sex, Car Sex, Cum Eating, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, Porn Star AU, Safewords, Sex Tapes, Sex workers, Slight Bondage, Social Media, voluntary sex work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22051036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohox/pseuds/sohox
Summary: James Mack and Neal Lamont have been circling each other for years. Their chemistry is electric, but the moment the cameras are off, they can't even look at each other.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 206
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More or less Beta'd by half of my friends list. Special shoutouts to Secondhand-Watermelon and Mythical-Ross for doing the dirty work of spotting my errors. 
> 
> Thanks to TheMouthKing for threatening life and limb if I didn't write it. 
> 
> This is my love letter to the fandom. Missed you.

Link didn’t usually bottom. Both because of his size: height  _ and  _ length. Also because of his unshakable need to be in control. He’s found great success as a top. Yes he’s thin, but because of his broad chest and shoulders, and the fact that he stands at a solid six feet, it means on most shoots he’s usually fucking the lights out of tiny twinks with his considerably long cock. 

It's not that he doesn’t  _ ever _ bottom. He just doesn’t do it on film. It doesn’t exactly fit his brand. It was only by a weird miscommunication with his agent that he found himself kneeling on a tiny twin sized bed, completely engulfed in the embrace of an absolute giant with a honey blond manbun and a scruffy beard. They were incredibly lucky that his costar was insanely hot, and that the check had more zeroes than he’d ever seen before. His knees are spread wide apart, and his costar is buried to the hilt, stretching Link’s body back against his chest. His beard keeps rasping against his hairline because the giant keeps burying his face into Link’s neck. 

Link can’t tear his eyes away from the mirrors facing the bed, watching the way the giant’s humongous hands roam over his body, one holding steady at his throat, stroking his Adam’s apple gently with a calloused thumb. The softness is a stark contrast to the other hand, gripping his hip with a bruising intensity, digging his fingers into the soft baby fat of his belly. He’s pressing his fingers hard against the ripple of Link’s pelvis, like he’s trying to feel himself through the muscle, and Link would almost swear that he could. 

The restlessness of his costar’s hands is a perfect juxtaposition to the unwavering heat of his eyes. Link is watching them in the mirror, almost forgetting to play to the camera. James has held his gaze nearly the entire time he’s been inside of him, and Link can feel himself burning under the intensity. It’s nearly too much, the feeling of being stretched, slammed full of James’s thickness, his massive hands mapping the delicate curves and razor sharp edges of Link’s body. 

He’s not used to feeling so out of control, desperate and aching, his skin singing with the electricity crackling between them. He can’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he wraps the left one loosely around the base of his cock, the other coming up to sink his middle and ring finger deep into his own mouth. James chuckles into his ear, nipping at his lobe, reaching up to wrap his hands in Link’s long, thick hair. He tugs at it, hard, pulling his head to the side so he can suck a hot line of bruising kisses along the sinew of his throat. Link moans loudly, only muffled by his own fingers. He leans back, chasing the sensation and it only serves to push James even further into him. 

“Not used to this, are you Lamont? Bet no one’s fucked you this good in years. Maybe ever, huh? Like my cock? S’it feel good splitting open that tight little ass?” James is practically growling in his ear, slamming his hips up, like he’s trying to get even deeper. Link wants to let him, wants to let this ethereal sex god crawl into his being and take him over entirely. They’re both staring each other down, daring one another to be the first to look away. Link shudders at the sight, his body actually looks  _ tiny  _ surrounded by the sun kissed skin of the man behind him. 

The two camera men swarm around them, capturing them from every possible angle. James let his fingernails drag lightly down Link’s throat and over his collar bone, leaving thick red lines in their wake. He lets his thumbnail catch on the puckered skin of Link’s pebbled nipple, before trailing over his belly. He grabs the hand that was wrapped around Link’s cock, pulling it away before bending it behind his back, trapping it tightly between their bodies. “Mmm, nuh uh, Lamont, you little slut. You either cum on my cock or you ain’t cummin’ at all.” 

Link cries out, desperate for relief from the ache burning in the base of his spine, spreading through his belly, setting his blood to a simmer. “I  _ need.”  _ He gasps out, voice completely shredded. 

“Tell me,” James demands, slamming his hips forward, tilting his hips to change the angle  _ just  _ so _.  _ “Beg me. Beg me and I’ll let you.” 

Link can barely breathe, can barely see straight any more.  _ “Please,  _ James…  _ please _ .” He rasps out, desperately willing his lungs to drag in air. Both hands fly up, one in his own disheveled hair, the other burying itself in the silky strands tied into a loose ponytail atop James’s head. He tugs at them both and simultaneous groans fall from both of their mouths. 

“Yeah, baby, that’s it. Gonna make your pretty cock cum for me.” He practically roars into Link’s ear. One hand wraps tight around Link’s waist, hoisting him up until his knees lose contact with the bed, gravity somehow sinking James even deeper into his ass, nestled right against his prostate. His other hand comes around, gripping Link’s chin, dragging his face around to look at him. James crashes his mouth down onto his, tongue immediately demanding entrance. 

He feels it the moment James cums, despite the thin layer of latex between them, and the sensation of his pulsing cock against the sweet bundle of nerves deep inside him sends Link soaring. Suspended in the air, held up by James’s muscular frame, Link completely loses it, coming untouched for the first time in his life, rope after rope of pearly white splashing up on his chest and belly. 

One huge hand slides it’s way down his sternum, smearing wet into the pale skin of his belly. Those same fingers are suddenly at his mouth, prying his lips open for him to suck them clean. When he finally opens his eyes again, he immediately locks gazes with James through the mirror, both breathing heavy, unable to look away until the director calls cut. 

Later that night, long after James had abruptly left, not even cleaning off the mess of the shoot, long after the smell of him faded from Link’s skin, the  _ Neal Lamont  _ Instagram account follows the  _ James Mack  _ account, adding one more to his over two hundred thousand follower count. Link waits three days, scrambling for his phone every time he felt a notification, before he realizes that James Mack isn’t going to follow him back. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my sweet gang that read through it for me! 
> 
> And thank you to secondhand-watermelon for beta-ing so quickly.

  
  


“Listen, James.” The director’s voice keeps droning on and on, all nasally and self important. He’s an old vet of the industry, and thinks he has a _vision_ for what the fans _really_ want. He’s a blowhard, but because of his experience, he pays really _really_ well. It’s for this reason, and _only_ this reason, that Rhett took this job. _Only_ this reason. No others. “Listen, are you listening? I need you to take this first act slow. Slow undressing. We need long touches. We need cascading water. I know your _style_ is fast and brutal, but that can come later.” 

Rhett’s nodding, taking in half of what the director says, but mostly scanning the room to check out the set. The scene is supposed to take place in a ‘college locker room’ but they’re set up in a pretty swanky hotel and the shower looks anything but institutional. It’s all soft white marble and crystal-clear glass. It was made to look expensive. The only thing about the set that looks remotely authentic is the red and white intramural basketball jersey the wardrobe designer had given him when he’d first arrived. Once upon a time, he had been a basketball star, and he certainly _never_ wore shorts _this_ short. 

“Neal? You’re playing the timid new kid, afraid you’re about to get hazed.” The director is guiding Rhett’s costar for the shoot to the right lighting mark. He’s nodding, sucking his lip between his teeth as he looks around the bathroom. Neal Lamont, still looking just as eager to be involved as he did the last time they shot together. The front of his white shirt is pulled up and back over his head. It’s rucked up like a harness to frame his broad shoulders, leaving his long, lean torso free and clear. Rhett’s drinking in the sight, his fingers twitch at the memory of that soft skin just below his belly button. This time, though, it’s waxed bare, just like Rhett’s own chest. They’re supposed to be college sophomores and yeah, Link could pass for a twenty-year-old with his stupid shaggy hair. It’s longer than the last time they shot together but it still looks just as soft.

“Yeah, I can do that.” Lamont’s smooth voice, lilting with his southern accent, snaps Rhett out of his thoughts. He looks up, his blue eyes catching Rhett completely off guard once. He quirks his lips into that ridiculous lopsided grin again. The same one he wore in his instagram profile. Yeah, Rhett fucking looked at it. It’s not like he went searching for it. The poor kid followed him about seven seconds after Rhett pulled his cock out of his ass. It was also the same lopsided grin the fucker got when Rhett teased his fingers through the dark curls at the base of his cock. Again, fucking _eager_. 

God, that fucking _mouth._ It was easy to fixate on a mouth like Lamont’s. To be transfixed by the way his mouth fell into a silent _Oh_ when Rhett found just the right angle. _Christ_ , that was so damn hot to watch. He just fucking fell apart. Rhett’s cock throbs just thinking about it. 

_Fuck_ , the moment he slipped up and kissed that Lamont kid the last time they worked together, he knew everything was going be a fucking mess. 

See, Rhett has a rule. He _never_ kisses on film. It’s a good rule for a number of reasons. Sometimes his co-stars smell like an ashtray. Sometimes they have suspect blemishes around their mouths. He also never fucks without a rubber, but that’s another rule for another time. Not kissing also lets him separate his heart from his head. Both of them. It keeps fucking _messes_ at bay. 

So far it’s been a rule he can stand by and no one really gives him any shit about it. Every porn star has their weird quirks or demands. They carve out their own style. And _James Mack_ has already built a reputation for going hard and fast, so really, it’s pretty on-brand that he won’t kiss his co-stars. 

Slipping up and kissing Lamont was so fucking stupid. It was just a quick, filthy press of his mouth against those full lips, swollen from sucking hard around his own fingers. It was just a brush of his tongue into that sweet mouth, both of them groaning at the rush. It was blindingly hot.

The moment he caught Lamont’s lips against his own, he could feel the way his breath hitched in his throat. _God,_ his fucking throat, painted with bruises from Rhett’s teeth nipping, sucking, biting down on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. He had practically melted into Rhett, completely pliant. 

Rhett has to shake his head twice to clear the image out of his mind. It’s damn near impossible though, when Lamont’s standing right there in front of him, so much skin exposed, just begging to be touched. 

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s make some magic! Places!” 

Rhett tightens the ponytail at the back of his head and finds his first mark. 

* * *

“You little shit. Walking around here looking like you wanna get fucked.” Rhett grabs hold of Lamont’s arm, pulling him around to face him. “That what you want? You little slut. C’mere.” He uses the momentum of the spin to crowd into the smaller man, pushing him under the already running spray of water, slamming his back into the cold marble. 

“Wait! James, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying -” Lamont’s trying to stick to the script; he probably fucking studied it after they sent it to him last week. Rhett’s already forgotten what little he’d taken in during his one read through. He doesn’t need a script to tell him how to fuck this tight ass. 

Instantly they’re both soaked, Lamont’s hair already sticking to his forehead. Rhett resists the urge to brush it away from his eyes, instead presses his palm to the base of that long neck, sucking in a breath at the sight of how his hand completely engulfs him. The last time he saw this neck, Rhett had decorated it with bite marks and bruises. He still remembers it vividly, because Lamont posted three selfies that night, not having the decency to hide the marks at all. Rhett makes a mental note to send him home with a few again today. 

Rhett strokes his thumb over the pronounced curve of Lamont’s Adam’s apple, and the younger man is already shivering, fucking putty in his hands again. He drops his other hand down to Lamont’s hip, pressing his own body up into his space. 

“James, pull back, you’re blocking my shot!” The director’s hissing, but Rhett’s focused on the way their cocks are grinding against each other through the wet material of their shorts, both straining hard through the red fabric that isn’t hiding anything anymore. 

“Your line” Lamont breathes out, trying not to move his mouth too much to make it easier to edit out later. “Say your _line_.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Rhett growls, thrusting his hips down against the smaller body. And he knows that’s not the line, but fuck if it doesn’t drag the filthiest sound out of Lamont’s pretty mouth. 

He remembers the next part of the script at least, dropping down to his knees in front of Lamont. The guy is tall, but Rhett’s taller, so even down here, he still has to spread his legs apart to get to the right height. Lamont is… big. He hadn’t paid attention to exactly how big when they last filmed, focusing more on the way the curve of his hips fit perfectly under his fingers and how his ass was impossibly tight. But the way his cock is framed by the soaked red cloth of the basketball shorts, highlighting every curve and vein, makes Rhett’s jaw ache just looking at it. 

He presses both hands to Lamont’s stomach, blown away by how big they look against that tiny waist. Both of his thumbs press into the baby soft skin just below his belly button. He’s been fixated on that spot since Lamont walked on set and Rhett’s cock throbs at how the flesh there dips under the pressure. 

“James, get on with it! I know I said slow undressing, but fuck!” Lamont chuckles above him at the sound of the director’s instruction, looking down at him, face framed by his sopping wet black hair.

“Your fucking _eyes.”_ Rhett breathes, hopefully soft enough for only Lamont to hear. Left hand still braced against Lamont’s pelvis, he hooks his fingers of his right hand into the waistband of the tiny red shorts. But before he begins the slow drag down, he can’t resist nosing along the curve of his cock, pressing his hot mouth against the base through the cloth. He can feel the shiver that courses through Lamont’s body, can feel the goosebumps that erupt all over his smooth skin. He feels drunk off the power of it, looking up at those blue eyes and pressing his mouth in a hot trail along his shaft to the head of his dick. 

“James! Pull his goddamn pants down. No one wants to see you slobber all over his jockey shorts.” Rhett would beg to differ, but he does what he’s told, inching the cloth down slowly. Opening the present has always been his favorite part. 

The slow drag of the red cloth takes forever, but finally he pulls the material down far enough for Lamont’s cock to spring out, thudding heavily against Rhett’s hand on his belly. The brown curls framing his base have been trimmed neatly, making his cock look even bigger. Rhett wastes no time in burying his nose in the thatch of hair between his cock and his balls, breathing deep, tongue edging out to glide over his cleanly shaved sac. 

Lamont’s got his palms pressed flat against the tile behind him, his whole body tense like he’s never had someone on their knees in front of him before. Rhett smirks to himself, settling in to lick a long wide stripe from root to tip. The ragged groan that Lamont lets out is enough to drown out the director’s insistent yelling again. There’s a bead of precum waiting for him when he reaches the tip, barely clinging on in the spray of water, and Rhett teases at it with the tip of his tongue, letting it stretch just slightly between them, before he’s sinking Lamont’s thick cock deep into the back of his throat. 

Rhett’s good at this. He knows he is. He won an award during his first year in the biz for how talented his mouth is. It seems like Lamont never got the memo, though, because he’s looking down at Rhett like he can’t understand what’s happening. His ridiculous eyebrows are pulled together, tightly knit. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to bite down on his lower lip, or let his jaw drop, mouth opening and closing in tiny gasps, little droplets of water clinging to the curve of his lower lip. Rhett can feel Lamont’s stomach muscles tensing under his palm, and he’s stroking that delicate skin in time with the bobs of his head. He’s pulling out every trick in the book, hollowing his cheeks to create the perfect amount of suction, working his tongue to tease every inch that he can. He’s trying his best to relax his throat enough to take him all the way down, but the boy’s cock is fucking _long._

“ _Alright_ James! That’s enough, don’t let him cum yet, _fuck_!” 

Rhett takes his sweet time pulling off of Lamont, dragging a few more desperate moans from his pretty mouth before Lamont’s cock slips out with a wet pop. 

He’s on his feet again in an instant, shoving his own gym shorts down his long legs, kicking them off into the corner of the shower stall. His hands grip Lamont’s shoulders, pushing him down. He’s got him crowded against the wall, leaning heavily against one palm on the cool marble, the other gripped tight in his inky black hair. 

Lamont groans at the first tug of his soaking wet locks, mouth falling open. Rhett wastes no time pushing his cock into his waiting mouth. God, his fucking _mouth._ Rhett doesn’t know what it is about this kid’s mouth that he can’t fucking get over. It feels incredible, but it _looks_ like a fucking sin. The way Lamont’s lips are stretched tight over Rhett’s girth, tongue working its way down to the base of his shaft. Rhett’s already breathing hard, chest heaving at the sight. 

There’s a gleam in Lamont’s eyes like he’d be smiling if he could, and he won’t stop groaning. The buzz of it shoots straight up Rhett’s cock into his gut and it leaves him completely breathless, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming blue of Lamont’s eyes and the electric feel of his filthy mouth. 

Rhett’s trying hard, he really is. He can feel the back of his slender throat, but his hips are already stuttering, like he’s trying to get deeper. He lets the tangle of wet hair slip from his grip, his hand coming up to cup the curve of Lamont’s jaw. His thumb traces the curve of his lower lip where its stretched tight around Rhett’s dick. Lamont lets out a dirty low groan, like it’s his own cock that’s being serviced. The sound of it is like a punch to the gut and Rhett’s knees threaten to buckle under him. 

He pulls his cock away roughly, both hands wrapping around each of the smaller man’s biceps, tugging him upward. The moment he’s on his feet, Rhett’s lifting him by the thighs, slamming him hard into the marble. Neither of them have a chance to catch their breath before Rhett’s mouth is on him, kissing the bewildered look off Lamont’s face. The kiss is rough, all bitten lips and filthy swipes of his tongue in Lamont’s mouth. The director is hissing at him again but he can’t hear anything over the pounding rush of blood in his ears. 

Lamont is tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, fingernails biting into the skin there. He’s giving just as good as he gets, legs tightening around Rhett’s waist before he sucks obscenely on Rhett’s tongue. It's all too much and not enough. Their cocks are grinding against each other and Rhett can’t fucking stop himself. He reaches between them, his massive hand wrapping around them both in a vise grip. 

His hand begins a rough pump of their cocks as he finally breaks their kiss. His mouth licks and nips along Lamont’s chin, his jaw, getting his mouth on that filthy curve of Lamont’s Adam’s apple and he can feel it bob under his tongue as he struggles to catch his breath. 

“I’m _so_ close, I--” Lamont’s voice sounds wrecked with sex and it lights Rhett on fire. His vision swims, every muscle in his body tensing; without warning Rhett’s painting Lamont’s stomach with scalding hot streaks of white. His costar’s blue eyes widen in absolute shock, audibly gasping at the warm sticky mess now coating his own dick. 

A wave of cold rushes down Rhett’s spine. His stomach clenches in humiliation and he immediately drops Lamont to his feet, backing away before turning, pushing his way out of the shower and past the shocked crew. 


	3. Chapter 3

Link has noticed that James almost never posts on Twitter unless he’s tipsy. Ordinarily, his Twitter is all business. He sporadically posts about upcoming shoots or video releases. Or sometimes there will be a post letting his audience know he’ll be at a fan expo on any given date. It’s always perfectly punctuated, as if a copy editor is composing each tweet for publication. Link knows how much James likes to come off as the smartest person in the room, but even this is a little overkill. 

On more than one occasion though, late at night, Link’s phone has lit up with instagram alert from the James Mack account. About a month after their last scene Link woke up at 3 am to find seven _@jamesmack liked your photo_ comments posted to his feed in under three minutes. Link scrolled through and noticed James managed to miss any photo that had another of Link’s co-stars or male friends in it.

Link scrolled through his own Twitter feed, pausing over a thirty second clip James posted to the @jamesmack timeline. It was a close-up of a hand wrapped around an all too familiar cock. 

Link’s breath caught at the sound of James’s deep growling voice in the background slurring _“no one can fuck that tight ass like me. No one.”_ It’s just vague enough that it could be justified as a tease for his loyal fan base but the alerts on Link’s IG page, still popping up every thirty seconds or so, tells him something else is at play. 

He pressed the option to send James a DM, typing _“if you want to talk to me, my DMs are open. Vagueposting and stalking my IG is a weird look for you.”_

He watched the three little dots blink, holding his breath until his lungs burned with the effort. The reply never came. Instead, at the top of James’s Twitter feed was a message that read _fucK YOu._

* * *

Link is straddling James’s thighs, feeling his taut muscles flexing underneath his shifting hips. His phone is resting on James’s stomach and he’s scrolling through Instagram, liking his fan’s comments, replying to his favorites while his hand is distractedly stroking James’s cock. He’s been at this for a while now.

James’s arms are strapped to the wrought iron headboard, the muscles of his arms straining to touch Link, to take control of the situation. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Come _on!_ ” James groans out, pushing his hips up, begging for more friction from Link’s lazy hand. 

Link is struggling to keep the smirk off his face, playing up the distracted boredom for the three cameras placed strategically around the bed. The pained expression of _not enough_ on James’s face is exactly why he agreed to shoot this scene with him. _This_ scene, with Link completely in control. The thrill is burning low in Link’s belly, his cock already leaking. James looks so good under him, all golden skin stretched over his strong muscles and soft honey blonde curls framing his beautiful cock. 

Link changes the angle of his hand because his wrist is starting to ache. He switches the app over to Grindr, scrolling through, examining the profiles one by one. He finds a guy with a blonde man bun and a beard, turns his phone screen toward James’s face. 

“What do you think of this guy?” James’s entire body convulses and his skin flames red. “Maybe I’ll message him. You think he’d wanna hook up? I bet his cock would feel amazing inside me.” 

Link watches James’s face grow stormy, the tendons of his throat flexing hard as he swallows down an angry growl. James cums hard, startling them both, painting Link’s chest with streaks of white. Link keeps pumping him through it, milking out every last little drop and James’s thighs keep twitching with every touch. James’s cock is still rock hard, still twitching and his eyes can’t seem to drag away from Link’s face. 

Link doesn’t waste a second, not letting James catch his breath before he’s tossing his phone over to the side of the bed, snaking his lithe body down until he’s face to face with his cock. He pauses just long enough to blink up at James, locking eyes with him before he wraps his lips around the purple head, chasing the faint taste of James’s cum still leaking from the tip. 

“Fuck! _Wait!_ Oh, _fuck…”_ James’s voice cracks, hips bucking up wildly, thrusting deep into Link’s throat. Link works his way down, until his nose is buried in the soft hair at the base of his thick shaft. “Lamont, wait… s’too much.” James’s voice is strained, desperate, but he knows his safe word, and Link isn’t going to stop until he hears him gasping _mythical._ He sucks harder, creating that perfect suction his mouth is famous for. Up to this point in his career no one has lasted very long under his talented tongue and James Mack is no exception. 

It takes less than a minute before James is panting, hips pulled up away from the bed, muscles clenched tight. “Oh fuck, oh _fuck!_ I’m gonna cum, baby, please!” 

Link pulls off with a pop, gripping the base of James’s glistening cock. He’s trying not to dwell on James’s use of the pet name, can’t let himself read too much into it. They’re both professionals. He moves to straddle James’s lap again, lining their shafts together. James is thick, but Link’s cock dwarfs him by a good two inches and the sight of them pressed together has them both groaning. 

“I’m gonna cum again” James sounds wrecked already, breathless, but Link isn’t nearly finished with him. 

“No you’re not. Not ’til I’m ready.” He rocks their shafts together, hand wrapped tight around them both. “I’ve got a long way to go.” 

He’s talking a big game, but the truth is his cock is already pulsing, his balls are ready to burst. The sight of James helpless underneath him, flushed and red and desperate has him so hot he can barely breathe. He’s hoping this looks okay on camera, he hopes he’s coming off as dominant and in charge as he feels. 

He lets go of their shafts, fumbling behind him for the lube and condom at the foot of the bed. He knows what the script calls for, he should have finished James off with his mouth, but he knows his own body. He’s about to cum and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get James’s cock in him first. James watches him closely as he rolls the condom on his too sensitive dick, hisses loudly when Link coats him with the thick, cool lube. 

“Feels good. _Hurts_ , but... feels, _ahhh_.” James is babbling, hips undulating with every careful swipe of Link’s hand around him. Link’s already prepped. He’s been ready and waiting to ride James, aching to feel him inside again. He mounts him, lining himself up just right before sinking down down down until James is balls deep inside, stretching him wide. 

There are tears in the corners of James’s eyes, hands clenched into tight fists. “Untie me, Lamont, _please_. Wanna touch you.” 

“Not gonna happen, buddyroll.” Link is a little alarmed at how breathless his voice sounds to his own ears. He grinds down onto James, hips rocking back and forth obscenely. James screws his eyes shut, throwing his head back. “Look at me.” Link demands, lifting his hips before dropping back down. James eyes fly open as his cock slams into Link’s prostate and they both shake with the overwhelming feeling. 

Link puts his hands on James’s thighs behind him, his long torso stretched out above him. “Fuck, Mack, I can feel you in my _fucking stomach_.” 

James mouths _oh god,_ but no sound passes his lips. He loves how James can’t look away, his eyes are fixated on Link’s body. He looks like he’s drowning in Link and and it makes Link feel absolutely drunk with power. He’s riding James hard, nailing his prostate against the head of his cock and it doesn’t take long before he feels the pressure building inside. 

_Not yet_ , he thinks and he pulls himself off of James’s cock, crawling up until he’s straddling his stomach. He pulls off the condom behind him, leaving James’s cock exposed to the cool air. 

“No, _fuck_ , Neal, _please_ !” James’s arms look ready to tear through the leather straps. He’s drenched in sweat, panting hard and he looks like he’s about to cry. “Please baby, _fuck_ . Make me cum! _Fuck_.” 

“Shut up.” Link’s voice rings out strong. “That’s not your decision. Be a good boy and let me have my fun. I promise it’ll be worth it” 

Several emotions pass over James’s face, starting with outrage, then dissolving into absolute desperation as he nods his understanding. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s still acting. James starts a chant of _please please please_ under his breath. 

“Mmm, I fucking _love_ it when you beg. You look so good like this, fucked out, desperate for me. Never seen you look this good.” He can’t remember if those words are part of the script, but right now they’re the absolute truth. 

Link strokes his cock with a tight fist, dragging his hand from root to tip. He rolls his own balls in his other hand, exaggerated moans spilling from his mouth as he fucks his fist hard. 

James is watching his cock intently, licking his lips and panting hot breaths, chest heaving. The sight is absolutely filthy and Link can’t hold off any longer. He pushes his hips back until James’s cock is nestled in the crack of his ass, grinding against it as he pumps his hand, hard and fast.

He cums all over James’s stomach and chest with a shout. He drags his fingers slowly through the quickly cooling mess. ”You wanna taste?” James nods pathetically, licking his lips and tilting his chin forward. Link smears it messily across James’s lips, pushing his fingers into his mouth. James suckles at them them like he’s dying of thirst. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, tongue lapping up every drop and he cums suddenly, completely untouched, splashing up onto the curve of Link’s ass.

Link’s jaw drops and both their eyes widen, equally shocked. Link pulls his fingers out of James’s mouth in mock outrage. 

_“I’m sorry!”_ James croaks out and he sounds utterly devastated. His whole body is shivering, brows knit together. “I didn’t… I _tried_ to hold off.”

Link smacks his hand down hard onto James’s chest, dragging it over his stomach and smearing the cold cum all over his skin, gathering as much as he can into his palm. He shifts back and wraps his palm around James’s still throbbing, over-sensitive cock. 

“I told you that you don’t get to decide when you cum. I do.” He starts jerking him off roughly until James is sobbing, begging. He’s overstimulated, shaking like a leaf and he’s already on the verge of cumming again. It’s too much, too soon, and far too overwhelming.

“Where does it hurt the best, baby? Right here?” He’s stroking just under James’s pulsing glans. “Or...here?” He moves to palm the head of his cock and James is shaking his head back and forth, furiously. His body is convulsing, tears streaming down his face and the breathy scream that rips from his throat is absolute music to Link’s ears. James’s cock pulses and a tiny dribble of white leaks from the head. 

Link swipes it up with his thumb, pausing just long enough to push his digit into James’s mouth before he’s pulling at the buckles, releasing the bigger man from the restraints. James’s arms fall heavy at his sides for just a beat before he’s wrapping them around Link’s body, pulling him close, holding him tightly to his still quaking chest. 

Their faces are so close together that Link can feel James’s breath on his lips, and he chances a quick peck to his co-star’s mouth. James’s response is immediate, crushing their lips together like he can’t breathe without Link. In the background Link can hear the hotel room’s door opening, the director yelling _Cut!_ and the crew buzzing around the retrieve the camera equipment. They sound far away, completely separate from himself and the shivering mess of a man in his arms. He licks hot and deep into James’s mouth, stroking the nape of his neck, soft and slow, blunt nails dragging through the shaggy curls there. 

He doesn’t stop kissing James until long after the bigger man stops shaking. 

  
  
  


  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you secondhand-watermelon for being an amazing beta.
> 
> Thank you to my lovelies for reading it and holding my hand and encouraging me.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves a comment or messages me on tumblr about this story. I write every word for you. 
> 
> ps: don't have sex in a moving car, or one that is stuck in traffic. leave that to the professionals: James Mack and Neal Lamont.

Rhett was supposed to be at his agent’s office hours ago, and by the amount of calls he keeps sending to voicemail, she’s absolutely pissed. His morning is fully booked. He’s got a series of meetings with a huge studio set to start tomorrow and he should be prepping for it. He’s got two scripts he’s supposed to read through, and a podcast he’s been promising an interview for three months now. Every single one of those items seems completely inconsequential at the moment. 

There’s more than enough on his plate to keep his workaholic tendencies occupied, and yet, he’s sitting in front of his computer monitor, an hour and a half into a Neal Lamont video playlist hosted on his studio’s website, and he’s memorized the way the muscles of the man’s thighs flex when he’s fucking deep into some tiny twink. It’s disorienting, to see how much bigger Lamont is than his other co-stars, when he always feels so very small under Rhett’s hands. 

Lamont is forceful, dominant in a way that Rhett had only just discovered the last time they shot together. His body shivers at the memory, and his already aching, neglected cock pulses, leaking even more through the grey silk of his boxers. It’s been weeks and he still remembers the way Lamont’s hand felt, tight and teasing, torturing him to the brink over and over. He remembers the way he couldn’t catch his breath every time Lamont surprised him with a new move. He felt out of control, weak, completely under the spell of Lamont’s talented hands, his mouth, his fucking smile. It was unnerving. His skin still buzzes, feels tight and itchy like Lamont had crawled his way inside and now Rhett can’t shake him off. That’s why he was watching now, to make sure Lamont wouldn’t take him by surprise again. 

On screen, Lamont’s got an overly tanned boy bent in half, his strong hands pushing the man’s knees down to his ears. His cock isn’t as thick as Rhett’s but it’s  _ so _ long. He can’t even picture where his cock is going inside the tiny body pinned beneath him. 

_ Fuck, Mack, I can feel you in my fucking stomach _

He remembered the way Lamont had gasped so deliciously above him, fucking himself down onto Rhett’s helpless cock. His face burned at the memory, flamed the fire of something unidentifiable growing in his gut while he watched Lamont fuck this kid stupid on screen. Every scene he watched set his blood simmering. He needed to see who else made Lamont’s voice dip low like that. Who else did he look up at, bashfully, with those ridiculously expressive eyes. Who else made the corners of his mouth turn up in the quirk of a smile when they nailed his prostate just right? No fucking one, that’s who. He’s watched dozens of scenes, and throughout them all, no one has left Lamont looking half as satisfied as he looked underneath Rhett. 

He’s been trapped in this ridiculous spiral of shame the entire morning, His sleep addled brain laid claim to Lamont’s perfect ass and he woke up rock hard, needing relief. And not for the first time, he’d turned to Lamont’s social media profiles to find it.

This was becoming a problem, affecting his sleeping, affecting his work at this point. Making it so that he can’t think straight. He can’t concentrate long enough to read through a script without the compulsion to swipe through Lamont’s Twitter feed, looking for mentions of himself or their videos. He can’t even blame his actions on booze this time; his mind is stone sober. He’s searching for some sign that he’s not the only one who’s so affected. He can’t be, right? The chemistry between them is overwhelming and electric. Everyone can see it, and that’s why their videos sell so well. Their undeniable heat makes it easy to keep convincing the studio he works with to offer Lamont the roles opposite him. Between their two fanbases, they’re guaranteed record sales. It’s more than that, now, though. It’s an itch under his skin that he can’t soothe, and watching him on screen with these other jackasses causes the feeling to flare, to burn deep. He can’t stand watching, but he can’t look away. 

His phone is clutched in his hand, thumb lazily swiping through Lamont’s posts until he finds one dated the day they last shot together. He’s inside a car, wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses that Rhett has seen a few times. His shaggy black hair is pushed away from his forehead and laugh lines crinkle around the corners of his magnetic eyes. Rhett calls him  _ kid _ all the time, but he knows Lamont is just a few months younger than himself. 

Rhett’s eyes travel over Lamont’s nose, down to his mouth. His lips are swollen, tiny little bite marks still marring the perfectly pink flesh where Rhett had nipped at them. He’s got that famous half-smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, and Rhett remembers the way his own mouth opened under those lips that day, all thought of  _ The Rules _ abandoned as he lay shivering in Lamont’s strong arms, relearning how to breathe as Lamont coaxed him back down. 

Without thinking, his thumb hits the tiny little heart, and as the icon turns pink, a wave of cold panic floods his body. 

“Fuck! Fuck,  _ fuck!”  _ He scrambles to sit up, immediately hitting the heart again to undo his moment of weakness. “Shit!” he yells out to the room. His heart is pounding, mind racing with ideas of how to explain it away. 

A few minutes later Lamont’s profile refreshes itself, and at the top is a new post, a video, thirty seconds long. Lamont is stretched out, pale skin contrasting with the dark leather of a couch. His long cock is straining hard against a pair of pale green briefs that are doing nothing to preserve his modesty. He’s holding his camera out, far enough to get most of his torso and face in the frame. His hand is stroking the outline of his cock through the fabric, toying with his balls. He’s smirking, the look on his face pure filth. 

“If you’re going to keep stalking my Twitter, I guess I might as well give you something worth looking at.” 

His voice has just the right amount of teasing to be playful, but the way his eyes don’t break contact with the camera, it feels like he’s staring Rhett down through time and space. There’s a caption tied to the video, #MeUndiesAd. It’s just vague enough that any fan watching would assume it really was just a sponsored post. Rhett swallows hard, body thrumming with the thought that this was no coincidence. 

  
  


* * *

Earlier that morning Rhett was sure this was one of his better ideas. He’s honestly completely shocked that Lamont agreed to play along so nicely, like he didn’t catch him just days before creeping through his social media posts. His co-star is sitting in the passenger seat, talking into the camera of his iPhone, playing with his hair and pushing it off his forehead. Rhett watches him wink into the camera, a flirty grin playing on his lips.

Lamont is overwhelmingly cute and it’s making Rhett’s blood boil. Not twelve hours ago he was patting himself on the back for dreaming up the idea of a ‘leaked’ sex tape between the gay porn industry’s two hottest rising stars. Now, with a line of cars backed up as far as the eye can see, the only thing he can think about is the pulsing headache that’s building between his eyes. 

Rhett grips the steering wheel hard, his foot shimmying on the brake, willing traffic to move. He looks over at Lamont, who’s now fiddling with the digital display on the dashboard. The urge to kiss him is so fucking strong, and thank god he’s sitting behind the wheel of this SUV, because that’s the last fucking thing they need right now. Rhett’s hand reaches over and smacks Lamont’s away. “I said, don’t fucking touch my radio.” he says gruffly and Lamont shoves back, aiming the camera right into his face. 

_ Right on cue.  _

“Get the fuck over yourself.” Lamont sits back and points the phone out toward the windshield. “Shit, do you think there’s an accident somewhere up there?” 

“What the fuck does it look like?” 

“Fuck you, Mack, it was just a question.” Lamont is playing up the playful bickering perfectly. 

There isn’t a script per se, just direction to make it seem like they got stuck in the car together. To play off the natural banter that sparks between them. The only problem is, they weren’t actually supposed to  _ be _ stuck in traffic. This was going to limit the amount of time they had to film in the AirBnb that was booked for the scene. 

“Put that thing away. Why do you insist on filming yourself all the fucking time?” he asks, like they spend time together like this all the time. He knows their fans like to speculate, and this will only add fuel to the flames. 

Lamont looks over at him, feigning annoyance. “My followers like to see what I’m up to.”

“Your  _ followers _ ? The only thing your ‘followers’ care about is watching your tight ass get fucked by  _ me _ . Put that fucking thing away. You better not send that video to anyone. And  _ DON’T _ post me on your fucking Instagram. You can’t afford my appearance fee,  _ Neal _ .”

“My fans adore me. They’d watch every fucking minute of my day if I posted it. They’d eat up a video of me commentating on LA rush hour. You’re just here for eye candy.” His smirk is infuriating. Rhett wants to kiss it off his stupid, beautiful face. 

“Shut your fucking mouth. The last thing I want is to listen to you talk about traffic patterns until this clears up.” 

Right on cue, he thrusts his phone at Rhett and as soon as it’s pointed back at Lamont’s face, he rolls his eyes dramatically. “If you want my mouth shut so badly, maybe you should fucking do something about it.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and leans across the sunken center console, popping open the button of his jeans, reaching in to roughly stroke Rhett’s cock. 

They weren’t actually supposed to go this far until they were safely parked somewhere, but at this point, Rhett puts the brake on, leans his seat back just a hair, and sinks his free hand into Lamont’s shaggy hair. Lamont wastes no time pulling out Rhett’s cock. He wraps his lips around the swollen head, a genuine moan of appreciation vibrating around Rhett’s pulsing shaft. He’s so fucking hard, has been fighting arousal from the moment he picked up Lamont from his agent’s office. 

“ _ Fuck _ , baby.” Rhett pushes the camera down so it’s right above his lap, his other hand brushing back the soft locks that are obstructing the view of Lamont’s perfect mouth. “You feel so fucking good.” He strokes his jaw line, sliding down into the hollow of his cheek, rubbing his thumb along Lamont’s slick lower lip. He tries to rock his hips up into Lamont’s perfect, warm mouth. There’s not enough room for him to gather any momentum, and anyway, Lamont is doing all the hard work for him.

“James,  _ fuck _ , I love this cock. Love the way you taste.” His voice sounds wrecked, tongue teasing Rhett’s slit, humming like he can’t get enough. “Wanna fucking ride you right here, baby, where everyone can fucking see us.” 

_ Baby _ . They keep throwing that word around and it’s almost too much, too intimate, and when Lamont pulls away to catch his breath, Rhett’s brain feels like it’s melting. There’s a tight clench in his chest, clawing at his throat, and he feels completely breathless. 

“C’mere.” Rhett demands, his voice wavering. He slips a hand back behind Lamont’s neck, pulling him in to kiss his scene partner, hard and deep. He can’t tell if either of them are in the frame of the camera phone, but it doesn’t matter. He loses himself for a moment in the slow, filthy slide of their tongues and they only break apart when someone behind them blows their horn. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, secondhand-watermelon for being my beta. If this chapter is any good at all, it's mostly because of you.

The door is cracked open, just slightly, and a stream of natural light floods into the hallway, casting a beautiful golden glow along the wall. A hand presses forward, pushing at the stained wood of the door, a tiny creak sounding off as it swings further open. The hand gestures at it, palm out, as if to say “ _quiet, don’t wake him yet.”_ There’s a soft, low breathy chuckle coming from the person behind the camera, laughing at themselves as they make their way into the room. 

A large king sized bed sits perfectly in the center of the room, a tan leather headboard standing in contrast to the white shiplap of the walls. The entire room is bathed in the evening sunlight, bouncing off a mirror positioned on the side of the bed. In the mirror is a reflection of the man with the camera, sun-kissed skin stretched tight over hard muscle, hair falling in waves along his jawline. His tan hand smooths itself along the white cotton duvet covering the bed. The cotton looks almost cream colored in the warm tone of the light. Underneath the duvet is the body of another man, stretched out long and lean, relaxed in a way he never seems to be when he’s awake. 

Link recognizes the body on the bed as his own, face down, the dark tuft of his hair fanned out against the pillow. The video playback from their shooting session is playing on an expensive monitor in the sleek conference room, the room he’s in now is the exact opposite of the room on the screen, all cold steel and dark wood of the conference table. The man seated along the other side of the table, diagonally from him, also looks completely different than the one reflected in the mirror on the monitor. Right now his hair is pulled up tight into the ever present ponytail at the back of his head. His sharp green eyes are trained on the image in front of them. He’s the very picture of _all business_ ; the only thing cracking the facade is the way his lips are parted, wet by his tongue, tiny pants of breath coming quicker the longer the video plays. 

Link’s gaze flicks back and forth between the video on the screen and the man sitting in the seat closest to the monitor. On screen, the impossibly tall man is pulling back the covers, slowly and carefully revealing the expanse of Link’s back, tiny freckles dusted along his shoulders and down his spine. _“Fuck,”_ the voice behind the camera whispers. _“Fuck, you’re so damn beautiful.”_ And Link knows James wrote the ‘script’ that way, but the sincerity in the voice causes his face to flame. He looks up in time to see today’s Mack shift uncomfortably in his seat, head ducking down, casting a quick glance at Link’s face. Their eyes catch for just a moment and they both quickly look back toward the monitor. 

On screen, Mack shifts on the bed, walking on his knees to get closer to where the direction says Link is ‘sleeping’. The camera shifts, as if moving from one hand to another, and a set of long, slender fingers reaches out, brushing back the inky black strands of Link’s hair from his face, revealing the sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw Link’s become quite famous for. 

_“Baby?”_ The voice behind the camera prods, thumb ghosting over Link’s cheek. That word wasn’t in the ‘script’, but since Mack wrote it, he was allowed to make any changes on-the-fly that he feels necessary. In the conference room Link’s face glows crimson, and he’s grateful that the lights are turned down low.

 _“Wake up, baby, miss you.”_ The voice is so soft, warm and sweet. Link remembers hearing it above him, remembers trying desperately to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. He didn’t want to miss his cue, but the way Mack’s fingers teased along his jaw felt _so_ intimate. On screen a thumb caresses his lower lip, and he remembers flicking his tongue against it delicately, just enough to be believable as a sleepy response, enough to keep the illusion going. 

There’s a tiny hiss of pleasure from behind the camera, and then Mack is pulling back, sitting up straight and pointing the camera at the mirror to film himself stroking his cock hard through his light green briefs. They look familiar, identical to the pair Link had teased him with on Twitter not even days before they filmed this scene. They could literally be his, Link thinks, and he supposed maybe that’s the idea, a false sense of intimacy played for the audience. Link’s hands ball into fists under the conference room table, denying himself the urge to press his palm against his aching dick. It’s impossible not to be affected, and if the tiny glances Mack keeps throwing his way are any indication, he isn’t the only one reliving this incredibly visceral experience. 

Link remembers the feel of the bed sipping under Mack’s shifting weight as he moved forward over Link. Now he watches the screen as the taller man pulls himself out of his briefs, camera angled down to follow as the head of his cock makes contact with the corner of Link’s mouth. He watches Mack guide the head of his cock along his lower lip, a tiny hint of pink tongue swiping out to chase the bead of precum painting the curve of his growing smile. 

_“Ah, there you are, baby.”_ James’s voice is teasing, pushing himself a little more firmly against Link’s lips. _“You’re not foolin’ me. I know you ain’t asleep.”_ Link watches his own face turn toward James Mack, blue eyes blinking sleepily, lips wrapping around the red-flushed head of his cock, tongue snaking a lazy swirl around it. It’s strange seeing himself from this angle. 

_This is what he sees looking down at me._

Mack’s free hand slid to tangle in the shaggy hair at the base of Link’s skull, thumb petting along his sharp cheekbone, caressing the hollow along his jaw made even more pronounced by his lazy sucking. It’s so intimate, it sends a hot wave of adrenaline through Link’s veins. His throat feels tight, and when he steals a glance at the James in the room with him, he catches his co-star staring back, eyes totally unreadable. James leans forward suddenly, hastily pressing the off button on the monitor, the screen zipping to black. 

“Wow,” a softer, feminine voice pipes up from the woman seated to Link’s right. Stevie, his agent, clears her throat, looking between him and Mack. “Looks like it turned out really, umm, _nicely_.” 

“It did,” Mack’s agent, a blonde woman named Jen, agrees from her position on the other side of the table, directly opposite Link. “It’s already creating a huge amount of buzz, just by word of mouth from the handful of people who’ve seen it.”

Stevie straightens up in her seat, leaning in, game face on. “So how much did you sell it for? Who’s it going to?”

Jen pauses, tucking a strand of her light hair behind her ear. She glances at Link out of the corner of her eye, then turns to Mack. He nods at her, still not saying anything. “Well, that’s why we’ve invited you here today.” She presses the tips of her fingers together in a steeple in front of her. When she speaks, her voice is controlled, measured; she’s practiced this a few times, Link thinks. “It hasn’t been sold yet.”

Stevie scoffs next to him. “I’m sorry, what? You haven’t sold it yet? It’s been almost three weeks. What’s the hold up?” When no one answers her, she powers on. “We thought you already had a buyer secured. The contract Neal signed implied that you already had a financial backer. What kind of game are you playing?” 

“Trust me, we will have absolutely no trouble finding a buyer,” Jen says, leaning back in her chair. “If we choose to go that route.”

“Wait,” Link finally speaks up, confused by her comment. “What does that mean, if we choose to? Why would we not be looking for a buyer?” His mind is reeling. This sex tape idea was supposed to be an easy shoot, easy money, low production cost to get maximum returns. Or were those just buzzwords that James used to get him into bed on his own terms? Link’s skin flames red hot, blood beginning to boil just beneath the surface. He’s tired of the constant mind games, the stupid back and forth that they can’t seem to get past. 

“Well, Neal, Stevie,” Jen’s voice cuts through his growing frustration, bringing him back into the room. “We seem to be sitting on what some would consider a, what’s the best way to say it? A _goldmine._ Distribution companies will be clamoring to release this video under their imprint.”

“Okay, so what are we doing here? What’s the freakin’ hold up?” Link is growing impatient. He feels like he’s being jerked along, not let in on some never-ending joke. 

Jen leans her body forward over the table, moving toward him so she can lock eyes with his. “What we are suggesting, Neal, is that you cut out the middleman. We are suggesting that you and James create your own production and distribution company and take this to market yourselves. Be your own bosses, completely in charge of every aspect.”

Link looks to Stevie, who is staring down Jen, a look of disbelief and hard-won respect quirking the corner of her mouth. “Interesting,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Very interesting. Of course, we’ll need time to consider the option.” 

James clears his throat, finally looking up at Link. “This only works if we’re both all in.”

The expression on James’s face is nothing short of vulnerable. He needs Link to say yes, that much is clear. And for the first time in a long time, Link feels like he might actually hold some semblance of power in this relationship.

* * *

The release of their sex tape had surpassed even Jen’s expectations of return on investment, but despite the fact that they had earned more money than Link had ever seen in his life, they still had to carefully watch every penny that came in and went out. They decided that their first project under their new production company would be a feature length film. They both agreed to not take a paycheck, wanting to give their fledgling company an even bigger cushion to try to expand as quickly as possible.

“You do this every time! It’s always the same bullshit with you and your hack law firm.” Link slams his hand down on the mahogany table that separates him from James. The sound of his hand hitting the wood echoes around the room. The prop department of their new company did an amazing job making it look like an expensive boardroom, considering their incredibly tiny budget. 

“Hack law firm? That’s pretty rich, coming from you. Look at you, dressed like you bought your suit off a used car salesman.” Link looks down at his striped shirt and black suspenders. He chuckles silently at the pants that are two sizes too big for his tiny hips. Come to think of it, they may have even been James’s slacks. James continues, “Your client can play up her _pain and suffering_ in front of the jury all she wants, but we all know her tears are as _fake_ as her tits.” 

It takes everything in him not to laugh at how serious James is trying to play his role. Link gets it. It’s the first real script James has written from start to finish, and as far as porn goes, it’s not _bad._ And quite frankly, it’s the first time Link can remember James actually even _reading_ a script, much less sticking to one. 

Link is sitting in a plush leather chair, gazing up at his co-star. James is leaning his weight on his hands against the table, both men staring holes into each other. He’s struggling not to let his lips quirk into a smile, because, fuck if James doesn’t look _good._ Gone is the ever-present man bun Link had fixated on for so long; James’s hair was now cut and styled into messy peaks of honey blonde. He’s dressed in a white pinstriped button down and a dark grey jacket. His black tie is done up neatly at his kissable throat. He somehow looks younger, and yet, more mature at the same time and the juxtaposition is driving Link crazy. He can’t wait to taste the skin at his jaw, to sink his fingers into that golden hair and find out if it’s as soft as it looks.

“Your client literally ran my client over with a golf cart. What about her pain and suffering seems fake to you?” 

“Lamont.” James can’t hide his self-satisfied grin. “She’s saying the accident turned her into a complete nympho. She can’t quit getting _dicked_. You tellin’ me you believe her?”

It’s easy for Link to follow the script, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, allowing it to move his whole upper body. James is _so_ proud of his clever plot line. “Yeah, I believe her. And I believe your client should pay up. You know I’m gonna win. I always do. My client’s going to take home a nice big paycheck to soothe the pain and suffering of riding dick _all_ day.”

James circles the table, the look on his face dangerous and dark. He comes to a standstill in the space between Link’s legs. He slides a finger under Link’s chin, tilting his face up to look him in the eye. “The only one who’s gonna be riding dick around here is you, Lamont.” He grabs Link’s arm, yanking him to his feet and pushing him to sit on the dark wooden table. Link’s ass barely hits the table before James is crushing their lips together, licking into Link’s mouth like he wants to memorize the taste of him. Link groans into the kiss, shivers erupting at the feel of James’s fingers in his hair.

_“You cut it?” James didn’t quite gasp, but Link couldn’t think of another way to describe the almost anguished sound of his voice. James stepped up to him, almost hesitantly, when Link arrived on set earlier that day. His hand shot up to touch the buzzed sides and the wave of hair at the top of his head, before pulling back just as quickly. “You didn’t…”_

_“I didn’t... what…? Ask for your permission?” Link scoffed. The look that crossed James’s face shot a little thrill of power through Link’s bloodstream. “Can’t exactly play a lawyer if I have a, what did you call it? A boy band haircut ? I gotta play the part.”_

Whatever force that had stopped James from touching Link’s hair earlier is no longer present. He tugs at the dark wave of hair at the crown of Link’s head, fingernails dragging along his scalp down to the base of his neck, drinking in the groan that his actions pull straight out of Link’s chest. 

Link grabs ahold of James’s tie, wrapping it around his own knuckles twice and tugging James forward to fit their bodies closer together. “It’s _always_ the same bullshit with you.” He stage whispers against James’s swollen mouth. 

He wraps his legs around James’s hips as he bites at the corner of his mouth, kissing his way over to his ear. Link is still riding high off the thrill of shaking James up, throwing him off balance. And if this wasn’t _their_ movie, from _their_ production studio, Link never would’ve been brave enough to take the reins. But that’s the beauty of being at least half in charge, he doesn’t have to worry about how much time they’re wasting or how much footage they’re going to have to cut out. He’s got James on a proverbial leash, and he can’t run away from Link here. 

“I thought the famous James Mack doesn’t kiss?” He breathes the words into the shell of James’s ear, grinding their cocks together through their slacks. “How come your rules don’t apply to me, Mack?”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” The growl that bubbles up from deep in James’s chest is maybe the most delicious thing Link has ever heard. It makes his skin prickle with goosebumps, a primal need building deep in his own belly. Something in him growls back, demanding to _possess._

Link pushes hard at his shoulders, giving them both just enough space for Link to tear at his tie, whipping it over his head. James tugs at his own tie as well, pulling it from around his neck before shedding his blazer, pausing only for a beat before he’s pressing himself back against Link’s body. His hands are everywhere at once, gripping at Link’s ass through the khaki fabric, tilting Link’s chin to the side to get his mouth onto his sharp, cleanly shaved jawline. “Hate you.” James’s words are following the script, but his voice betrays him entirely. 

“Hate you too,” Link whispers back. And some days he thinks maybe that’s the truth but right now it definitely feels like a lie. 

James tucks his fingers into either side of the collar of Link’s striped button down, ripping it open in one clean motion. He pushes the fabric away from Link’s chest where it gets tangled with the suspenders. Together they strip away the shirt from Link’s body and James wastes no time in staking claim to every square inch of Link’s chest. He’s leaving bite marks and little purple welts in his wake. Link loves the way it looks, reminds himself to take a few selfies to post to Insta later, to remind James of when things are good between them. He knows his co-star will come looking before long. 

“Quit trying to distract me from my case.” Link snakes his hands under James’s shirt, hands all over the soft flesh of his belly. His skin is already slick with sweat. “Gonna take a lot more than a few little bites to knock me off my game, Mack.” They get James’s button down out of the way, and Link jumps down from his perch on the table, crowding into James until he’s pushing the taller man into the brown leather chair. 

“Fuck, Lamont, we’re supposed to meet with the judge in twenty minutes. Maybe we shouldn’t start this right now.” Mack says, leaning forward to sink his hands into Link’s hair. He’s running his fingers through it, tugging at the longer strands. James looks almost awed at the change in Link’s appearance; he can’t quit touching his hair, his exposed ears, the smooth skin of the back of his neck. Link feels drunk off James’s affection and he has to shake his head to refocus. 

“If you’d quit trying to distract me we’d have plenty of time to take care of this little sidebar.”

Link pops open the button of his own khaki slacks and lowers the zipper, leaving it open but not moving to take his pants off completely. Instead, he sinks to his knees in front of James and works open his co-star’s pants. He pulls them roughly past James’s hips, dragging them out from under his butt and down his long legs. He tosses the offending material out of the way, hoping the cameraman is smart enough to move as they go flying. 

James is stretched out in the plush leather chair, honey skin contrasting nicely with the warm patent brown leather. He’s breathing hard, belly rounding out with each gulp of air. The sight of him, long and lean, his thick cock resting against his stomach, flushed and leaking already...it’s a lot. It’s making Link’s mouth water just from looking at him. He hooks his hands behind James’s knees, pulling him forward roughly into the position he wants him before pushing a leg over each arm of the chair, spreading him wide open. 

_“Fuck_ ,” he breathes. “Yeah, _yes,_ stay just like that.” 

Link looks up at James, fixing his gaze on those jade green eyes, already blown wide with lust. James’s face is flushed with red, lips bruised with kisses, glistening wet with the evidence of how he just can’t help himself with his need to constantly fit their mouths together. Link refuses to break the eye contact as he dips down, wrapping his lips around the swollen head of James’s cock. They both groan as Link gets his first taste of his co-star today. The warm smell of James’s sex has become so familiar to Link, he feels right at home on his knees in front of him. He has long since memorized the exact spots that make James moan the loudest; he has learned exactly what it takes to make him buck his hips up into Link’s eager mouth, to draw out a bead of precum to smear across Link’s waiting lips. 

“Baby, c’mon. Wanna fuck that pretty mouth.” James keeps tossing that word around, _baby_ . It’s not in the script. Link knows this because he looked for it. The sound of the sweet nothing makes his dick ache and he can feel himself leaking through the khaki fabric of his pants. He moans around James’s cock, pushing down onto it even further, feeling it slip into the tight warmth of his throat. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_ , yeah baby, just like that. _Please_ don’t stop.” 

James sounds so sincere, Link feels warm all over. James has a way of blurring the lines when they’re together, his voice soft and sweet, his touches firm and thorough. It’s overwhelming, and it always leaves Link feeling completely out of control. Today though, he knows his role, he knows the script forward and backward. This time it’s his turn to be in control. James knows it because he wrote it that way — but the way he keeps tugging at Link’s hair, using the leverage to push himself deeper into Link’s hungry mouth, makes it seem like he’s already forgotten the game plan. 

Link pulls off of James’s cock, pushing his long legs further up the sides of the chair before he dives in between James’s spread cheeks, sucking along the skin of his taint, moving to smooth his tongue around the impossibly tight ring of flesh hiding between his legs. 

“Oh, _fuck!”_ James shouts, clearly caught off guard. He’s shaved completely clean and he smells like pure _man_ , and it’s making Link crazy. Link idly wonders what other kinds of prep work James has subjected himself to since writing this script. Did he have someone else work him open like this? Did he do it himself? Link would’ve loved to volunteer. The only warning he got was _‘memorize the script, get tested, be on time.’_ The same details that come along with any other job. 

But getting his mouth on James like this? This isn’t in the script. James is famous for not following the direction, even if it’s his own, and he’s certainly not trying to stop Link now. Instead, he fists his hands into his own hair, staring down at Link as he feasts on his hole. His tongue is slick and insistent, finally working itself in past the tight ring of muscle. He fucks James’s hole slow and deep, pushing his tongue in as far as he can, his nose pressing into his hairless sack. 

_I could do this for days_ , he thinks. _I wanna do this forever._

James’s face looks positively wrecked, blotchy red with a sheen of sweat covering his brow. He’s babbling, moaning nonstop and trying to fuck himself on Link’s face like maybe he could cum from just this. Link wouldn’t mind seeing if he _can_ get him there with just his tongue, but even more so, he wants to make him wait. He pulls back, pressing his open mouth to the crease of James’s thigh for a beat to catch his breath.

James nods again toward the conference table. “Drawer. Under the table.” His voice is hoarse, ruined with lust, and it cracks on the last words. It’s so fucking sexy, Link can feel his stomach flip at the sound. Link finds a drawer built into the underside of the wooden structure and he reaches into it, coming up with only a bottle of lube. He looks back to James, and if the man is surprised that Link doesn’t find a condom in the drawer, his features certainly don’t betray the thought. 

James levels him with a scorching look, the filthy quirk of an eyebrow, daring him to move, to say something. Link feels the heat of his stare shake him to the core. His cock throbs hard, threatening to spill before they even begin. 

_So this was the big plan,_ Link thinks. 

There’s a feeling of breathless wonder bubbling up in his chest that he can’t quite explain. He says, “Okay, _right_ , yeah,” then shakes the bottle of lube, popping the cap and dispensing a generous pour directly into his palm. He strokes his own cock with his hand before pushing his hips forward, grabbing both of their cocks together. He strokes them both until James is shaking, begging, “Please, Neal. Now, _fuck_.”

“I dunno, _baby_ , I’m not sure you deserve it.” 

“I’ll, _fuck_ ...I’ll do whatever you want. _Please_!”

Link holds his heavy cock in his hand, pushing the head of it along the crease of James’s ass, spreading the glistening wet all along his rim. “Tell your client to settle. I win, I’ll fuck you right now. You wanna keep fighting, I’ll fucking fight dirty and I’ll leave you here just like this. Let’s see how well you deal with the judge with your balls about to bust.”

James throws his head back, his straining cock dribbling out another stream of pre cum. “Fine, yes. Whatever. Just… _please_ , I need your cock.” He tilts his face forward again, staring at Link’s long, hard dick. His eyes are wide, nearly nothing but pupils at this point. His chest is heaving with each ragged breath he drags in. 

_I did that to him._ Link’s body shivers with the thought. 

“Mmm, fuck, I love it when you beg me like that, baby. You’re makin’ my cock throb.” Link leans forward to capture James’s mouth again, his clean hand wrapped around the back of his neck to drag him close. He’s whispering against his mouth, just low enough to escape the pickup of the mic. “You scared to take my big cock? Can’t take your eyes off of it. I’m gonna split you in half, Mack.”

“Not afraid of you, Lamont. I know all your moves. I can handle anything you throw at me.” And his filthy smirk is maddening. It’s not the first time Link has wanted to kiss that look off his face, but it is the first time he’s in a position to actually do so. He crushes his lips to James‘s, licking hotly into his mouth, and when the head of his cock finally pushes its way into James’s body for the first time, Link memorizes the sound of the moan that falls from his lips, swallows it greedily. 

Link gives him one more tiny peck to the corner of his mouth before pulling back to take a look at his own cock, no more than two inches deep into James’s ass. It takes everything in him not to cum at the sight of James’s tight body stretched wide around his shaft. James is staring too. 

_Good._

“You know, Mack, I’m still not sure if you’ve earned it yet,” he says, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock, squeezing tight. James’s eyes widen, clearly trying to remember where this falls in the script. If James can make on-the-fly edits to the script, then so can he. Link slowly begins to pump his hand up his own shaft, still slick with lube, until his fist kisses James’s body, then back down again. He’s jerking himself off straight into James, and the sight is utterly obscene. James must think so too, because his jaw drops, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and Link immediately feels a flutter of muscle around the head of his dick. He’s rendered James completely speechless, and the thought of that is _thrilling_. His body is burning hot; every thought, every sensation is boiled down to where his body is connected with James Mack’s.

“Fuck, I could just use you like this, huh? Fucking dump my cum in you right here and now. You’d let me, wouldn’t you, baby? Just let me fill up your hole?” He’s stroking faster now; he’s impossibly hard, watching the way James’s body is squeezing his head. James is nodding, still not able to speak. 

“You’re always so good for me, baby,” Link whispers, leaning forward to kiss James again before he slams his cock all the way into him, bottoming out inside his tight body, drinking in his silent cries. “God, I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long.” He’s barely exhaling the words against James’s mouth, and James is breathing them in like pure oxygen. There’s no way either of them is going to last long. Link fucks into him at a punishing pace, angling his hips just right to nail that spot inside James’s perfect ass. 

James reaches one hand out to curl around Link’s hip, folding himself up, small and anchored. The other snakes into Link’s hair, fingers clenched around the shortened locks, holding their faces together. Link tries to hold eye contact, but James’s eyes can’t focus. He looks dazed, completely lost in the sensation of Link’s cock fucking into him. Link’s a little lost in it, too. He can feel the silken heat of James’s tight passage milking him for all he’s worth. He can feel the telltale signs of James’s body giving in, and he has to steel himself not to let go first. He wraps a hand around James’s cock, pressing gentle kisses to the bigger man’s mouth as he works them both closer. 

“You’re so _thick,_ baby,” James chokes out. “Fuck, I can feel you swelling _inside_ me.” 

“Mack, _fuck_ , I want you to cum for me.” He’s stroking James in time to his own thrusts, nipping at his lips, his other hand tugging at his golden hair. “Cum on my cock, baby. Right _now_.”

He feels James’s body tense, strung tight like a bow, his fingers digging into Link’s bony hip. James’s breath is so hot against his lips. He presses his forehead to Link’s, both chasing the feeling of pure ecstasy, each trusting the other to lead them there. Link watches James’s face crumble at his orgasm overtakes him, pulled under a wave of pure sensation. He can feel it bloom inside James’s body by the clenching of his muscles long before his co-star’s cock pulses out thick white ropes of cum, painting both of their chests. James is all but speechless, exhaling out just one word with what air he has left in his lungs. 

“ _Link.”_

The sound of his own name, his _real_ name, snaps something inside of Link, his body convulsing in shock just as much as it does in pleasure. His orgasm slams into him, choking him of all oxygen, and he buries himself to the hilt, spilling everything he has into James. 

_Link_. 

James said his name. His _real_ name. How did he even find out what it is? The implication causes Link’s stomach to clench, heat radiating over his cheeks and neck as he struggles to catch his breath. His mind is reeling, they have so much to talk about later, but for now they both collapse against each other, shaking hard, clinging to each other’s bodies. Link crushes his mouth fiercely to James’s as if their shared oxygen is the only thing keeping him alive, trying desperately to stave off one single echoing thought: where do they go from here?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by my wonderful friend @secondhand-watermelon.
> 
> Thank you @themouthking for demanding more. And to everyone who kept encouraging me to post an update. 
> 
> I Love you all.

Rhett has spent the last two hours trying, without much luck at all, to organize his racing thoughts into written words. He’s been pacing from one end to the other of their production company’s newly purchased office space; Jen called the buy a ‘smart investment’ for their recently established business. It’s a long, galley style studio, end-capped with exposed brick walls on either side. On one end there’s a black steel staircase leading up to a spacious loft. There isn’t anything up there yet, other than an oversized futon, but Rhett knows it has the potential to be a great place to shoot mini videos for Twitter or Snapchat. 

One of the longer walls has a set of large picture windows, allowing for natural light to flood in. Rhett had the movers push two sturdy desks against each wall, one directly under one of the big windows, the other across from it along the back wall. Jen is supposedly hiring a decorator to make the place look respectable, but for now most of everything is still piled into boxes scattered around the room. 

Some of the boxes hold large silver monitors for editing, sound equipment and lights meant to be set up later in the empty space at the back of the studio. The thought of unpacking them right now is so wholly unappealing, Rhett’s lower back twinges just thinking about it. The only thing in the office that has actually found a home is the large acrylic dry-erase board that Rhett spent the better part of the afternoon filling with lists of ideas for upcoming video shoots. So far the list consisted of increasingly ridiculous plots filling one side of the board. The other side had a list of names of up and coming stars that might be interested in being cast in their videos. 

Rhett considers himself a practical guy. Realistically he knows that if their new production company is going to continue to bring in money, they have to start forward planning. They need to think beyond filming just the two of them. 

Lamont was the first to bring it up at a meeting with Rhett, Jen and Stevie. He sat across from his new producing partners on the patio of a restaurant in downtown LA, shredding his paper straw, pushing a pair of black square prescription glasses Rhett had never seen further up his nose. 

_ “ _ _ We need to expand our talent pool. We need more stars. More names to draw in viewers. People aren’t going to watch you and me fuck forever. We need to think bigger.” _

Rhett prides himself on being pragmatic, but he has to be honest: he never once thought past the idea of the two of them fucking forever. He imagined their business growing based on their own charisma, the sheer heat between them giving them enough material to last for years. 

At this point both of the lists on the board have grown quite long. He seems to have an endless supply of ideas, of different ways two bodies could fit together, but each time he tries to  _ assign _ an actor to one of the scenarios, his brain is flooded with images of Link — no,  _ Lamont.. _ . every time he closes his eyes, all he can picture is Lamont stretched luxuriously long across a bed, flat on his back in a field of tall grass, on all fours in front of a roaring fireplace, riding him at a galloping pace in the backseat of a car. Every time he tries to imagine another actor clutching at Lamont’s hips, pulling him back against themselves, his blood simmers hot in his veins. 

He stands before the frosted acrylic, closing his eyes and letting his head thud forward against the hard plastic, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck that he can feel is glowing red-hot with frustration. . He's so lost in his own increasingly vivid fantasies that he's startled by the sound of the heavy industrial door swinging open, echoing through the office space. A rush of air leaves his lungs when he whips around to find Lamont shoving his way in through the door. 

“Oh...  _ wow _ ! This place is  _ great _ !” Lamont is carefully balancing two moving boxes stacked high in his arms. “Whoa, we have a couch? Is one of those desks for me?” He’s leaning back, trying to juggle the boxes while kicking the door closed. 

Rhett’s body flushes red from head to foot. He stands up straight, moving his body directly in front of the scene list scratched out on the dry erase board. “How…uh, how did you get in here?” He hates the way his voice cracks around the question. He swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat.

“Stevie gave me a key. She said you’d be here tonight. I figured I could swing by and drop off some stuff.” Lamont closes the gap between them with several quick strides and drops his boxes on top of the closest desk, the one directly under the big picture window. “What’re you workin’ on?”

Rhett doesn’t answer the question. Instead he stands rigid, clutching the black marker, watching Lamont move with careful, considering steps. There’s a smirk on his lips, curving up playfully as he pushes closer into Rhett’s personal space. 

The way Lamont’s voice drops around the words lights a fire in Rhett’s belly, and suddenly he’s all too aware of how they’ve never  _ really _ been alone before. The closest they’ve ever come to being alone was in a hotel room wired with cameras with an entire film crew watching just outside the door. That thought, combined with the heat in Lamont’s eyes, has Rhett’s dick twitching at the memory. 

When he speaks again, Rhett can feel Lamont’s warm breath ghosting over his neck, over the shell of his ear. “Dinner party. Host fucks... his  _ friend _ ... while his wife entertains the crowd.” He squints through his glasses to try and decipher Rhett’s handwriting. “I like the sound’a that one.” He plucks the marker out of Rhett’s fingers, scrawling his own name,  _ Lamont, _ under the bullet point. 

Lamont steps back as he considers the talent list. He drags the capped tip of the marker down the length of the board, trailing it beside the list of names until he pauses next to one. “Colby Keller, huh?” He bites his lip thoughtfully and the movement causes the muscles in Rhett’s stomach to tighten. “Let’s put him down for that one too.” 

There is a low rumble of jealousy blooming in Rhett’s stomach; he can hear his heart pounding in his own ears, and his dick is unexpectedly swelling at the thought of Link under the broad chest of someone else. If the look of delight in Lamont’s eyes is any indication, Rhett is sure his thoughts are written all over his face. Lamont’s voice is light and teasing when he says, “If you haven’t noticed, I kind of have a  _ thing _ for red beards.” Lamont lifts his hand up, thumb and forefinger tugging softly on the hair covering Rhett’s chin. 

Rhett gulps hard, shaking his head to clear the jumbled mess in his brain. He feels surrounded by the smell of Lamont; they’re standing so close together. “I, uh… I was planning on you and me takin’ on that one.” He turns his head to look at the board for a moment, then turns back to look at the smaller man, ducking his head low.

Lamont's smirk is a full-on sly grin by this point, and his eyes are still twinkling brightly. Rhett hates it instantly, has to look away before he does something stupid. Lamont’s voice is kind but teasing when he points the marker back at the dry erase board.

“Mack, you’ve got us down for almost  _ every _ one of these scenes.” He can practically hear the eyeroll in Lamont’s voice. The smaller man steps right up, the toes of their shoes just barely touching. He angles his face up at Rhett. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

Every muscle in Rhett’s body is commanding him to lean forward, to press their mouths together. The way that Lamont’s eyes keep darting between Rhett’s own eyes and his mouth lead him to believe he certainly wouldn’t stop Rhett from moving in. It’s a dangerous place for them to be. They’ve never even had a conversation alone together before, without a camera around to capture it, and now here they are, in a standoff in the middle of their shared office. 

He steps around Lamont, striding over to the little side table next to the leather couch, where he has set up a Scotch decanter and a set of four crystal glasses. It was the first thing he’d unpacked when he got there this afternoon.

“D‘you want a drink, Lamont?” He keeps his voice as steady as possible, swallowing around the thick swell in his throat. He busies himself with pouring the amber liquid into a glass, clutching it in his hand.

Lamont snorts out a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, so we’re back to stage names, are we?” He walks up behind Rhett, crowding in close, his hand landing on Rhett’s strong forearm. He lets his fingertips slide down along the muscle and vein of Rhett’s wrist until his fingers reach the glass, taking it smoothly from him. He takes a sip, but doesn’t pull away, the length of his front pressed hotly along Rhett’s back. “Thought we’d graduated to first names after the other day. Or did I get that wrong?” 

Rhett looks back over his shoulder, staring hard down into Lamont’s eyes as his mouth opens of its own accord to speak. He catches himself just in time, and rather than answer, Rhett pours himself a double. He picks it up, and slowly, very deliberately, he turns in place until they’re face to face again. “Cheers?” He clinks the glass against Lamont’s before downing the contents of his own in one long gulp. 

“Need a bit of bravery, do we?” Lamont takes another sip of his own drink, eyes sparkling mischievously over the rim of his glass. Rhett can tell his cheeks are still pink in the dim light. The warm flush of the booze is quick, but truth be told, his skin has been on fire since the moment Lamont walked in through the front door. 

Lamont plucks Rhett’s glass from his hand, setting it on the side table alongside his own, and Rhett barely has time to suck in a breath before Lamont’s hands fist around the front of his button down; before he’s rising up on tiptoe but remaining just far enough out of reach to deny Rhett a taste of the sweet curve of his lips. His breath is warm, whiskey-scented and intoxicating, and Rhett can feel the whisper of it over his own lips, sending sparks all the way down to the base of his spine. 

“What were you going to say, Mack?” Lamont’s voice is feral with want. “There aren’t any cameras around, no need to act tough. Tell me what you wanted to say.” 

Rhett’s inhaling Lamont’s words, tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip. It’s too much: the heat between them has his blood boiling, and Rhett’s head is fuzzy, whether from the booze or from the images he can’t clear from his head, he can’t tell any more. He takes a breath to steady his own voice, swallowing down the panic. “Fuck. You.” He juts his chin forward to claim Lamont’s mouth, but the smaller man still has his hands fisted in Rhett’s shirt, and he uses the leverage to hold him off. It catches Rhett completely by surprise, not at all used to being denied what he wants. 

“I was hoping you’d ask.” 

Lamont pushes at Rhett’s chest with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the couch. Rhett falls into it, barely having time to push himself back into the cool brown leather before he’s pinned under the weight of Lamont’s lithe body, pressing in so close there isn’t a single inch of space left between them. 

“You’re such a fucking coward.” Lamont slides his hips forward, grinding the rock-hard bulge in the front of his jeans against the matching swell in Rhett’s lap. They both let out a groan, and Lamont lets his head fall forward into the curve of Rhett’s neck. His lips brush along the smooth skin behind Rhett’s ear, and his voice is low, but sure. “Guess I’ll just have to be brave for the both of us.” 

Lamont’s hands are impossibly hot on his skin, one hand tangled in Rhett’s hair, the other curled around his throat. Rhett is struggling to catch up, his brain still three steps behind, his mouth still searching for Lamont’s, when suddenly the buttons of his shirt are ripped open. It splits down the middle and Lamont’s slender fingers are pushing the fabric down his shoulders. Rhett lifts his arms to allow the shirt to be pulled out from behind him and in the same breath he rids Lamont of his t-shirt as well. 

The moment the shirts are out of the way Rhett is pulling Lamont’s slim body flush against his chest, admiring the way his body dwarfs the one in his lap. He mouths along the sharp jut of Lamont’s jawline, feeling the rough stubble against his tongue as he tastes the salt of Lamont’s skin. He's dizzy with how badly he wants this. It’s stupid, and they’re both probably going to regret it tomorrow, but right now he doesn’t care. His mouth leaves hot kisses along Lamont’s warm skin, teeth nipping over the dip of his chin, along his delicate neck to his Adam’s apple. 

One of Rhett’s strong, massive hands trails down Lamont’s rib cage, the other curls around the back of his neck. Rhett’s still missing the mop of hair that Lamont chopped off, the hair that he loved to tangle his fingers in, but he also loves the unobstructed feeling of warmth at the nape of Lamont’s slender neck. He’s fixated on every part of Lamont that he can reach, fingernails scraping lightly over the smooth skin of his neck and his shoulders. Lamont shivers, a filthy grin blooming on his lips as he grinds his hips against Rhett, cocks sliding against each other through the rough cloth of their jeans, pulling sharp gasps out of each man’s throat. 

Rhett tugs him forward, leaning in to press his mouth to the sinful curve of his lips, but Lamont dodges him, blue eyes wide with an impish expression that goes straight to Rhett’s cock. Confused, Rhett tries again, this time only catching the corner of Lamont’s mouth. 

“Mmm, no, I don't think so, Mack.” His voice is rough with want, hands dropping down into Rhett’s lap to unbutton his jeans, sliding the zipper down and pulling his hard cock out of his briefs. He spits into his hand before slicking it down Rhett’s length, wrapping it tightly around the base of his shaft. “I have rules, too.” 

Rhett grabs his hips roughly, palms encircling his tiny waist and pulling him in close. Lamont’s eyes meet Rhett’s and he’s drowning in the cerulean blue, intoxicated by the pure want he finds looking back at him. “What are you talking about, what  _ rules? _ ” He gasps out, trying to catch his breath.

In the brief pause before Lamont speaks again, Rhett realizes he is on fire, every nerve in his body alight — every breath between them feels kinetic. His body can’t help but respond to the way Lamont is smiling up at him, one hand stroking his cock in perfect rhythm. His other hand is pulling out his own shaft, pressing their lengths together. They're both leaking, and the slickness makes it easy for them both to fuck the circle of Lamont’s tight fist. And even though they’ve only just started Rhett already feels like he’s barely hanging on. 

When he speaks, the look on Lamont’s face is dangerous. 

“I  _ never _ kiss for free.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for liking, commenting and subscribing! You know what time it is!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ soho-x.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up immediately following chapter 6. Reading that one again would certainly not hurt. 
> 
> Thank you endlessly to secondhand-watermelon and all of my tumblr crew for constantly cheering me on. I'm grateful beyond measure.

More than anything, Link fucking loves to wind Mack up. Getting under his costar’s skin is like a drug; it lights him on fire and leaves him reeling to see that spark in Mack’s eyes. Mack looks completely knocked off guard, face stunned like he lost his place in the conversation.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” Link growls, pushing at his shoulders until Mack’s body is stretched out, spread under him and waiting for his touch. “You love to dish it out, but you can’t ever fucking take it, can you baby,?”

Link’s fist is wrapped tightly around both of their shafts, two swollen heads slipping against each other through their combined slickness. He can already smell their scent in the air: a medley of citrus and sandalwood, sex and sweat. Mack’s face is flushed red, his breath searing hot on Link’s face and the booze has them both tumbling into honesty.

Mack reaches out to touch Link’s cheek but the smaller man dodges him, intercepting his hand and pinning it against Mack’s stomach. Mack’s eyes roam over his body. Link knows if Mack wanted to he could easily turn the tables, get Link under him and take what he wants. But for now he seems content to let Link take the reins. 

“Want your _mouth_ ,” Mack gruffs. 

“Yeah?”

“Want it on mine.” 

Link laughs at that, a burst of sound that echoes throughout their office. _Their_ office _._ “If you want it, you’re gonna have to earn it, _Mack._ Be good for me and I might give it to you. _”_

The storm brewing behind Mack’s eyes sends thrill straight through him.

Link’s hands slowly push Mack’s long thighs back toward his chest, spreading him open, wide and waiting for Link to touch. It’s a familiar position— one Link has put Mack in before— but never like this, in the quiet, just the two of them. The whiskey is making Link brave, and maybe Mack is feeling the same, because his cheeks are pink and his eyes are glassy; Link loves the way Mack’s watching him so closely, clocking every move he makes like his life depends on it.

“How about if I give you my mouth like this?” Link asks, his southern drawl curling around the words. 

Mack’s breathing is shallow and Link can’t tear his eyes away from the bite marks Mack's left on his lower lip. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lean forward and draw that lip into his own mouth, but Link drew the line in the sand and now he has to stand his ground. 

Instead, he rears back and spits directly onto Mack’s hole. Mack sucks in a breath of surprise, his whole body shuddering as Link leans forward to seal his mouth over the tight ring of muscle. Mack fists his hands in his own hair, back arching off the couch as a low whine trails out of his mouth. 

“Ohh, fuck _yeah,_ baby,” Link whispers against the puckered skin. “There ya go.” He doesn’t hold back, tongue working its way in with relentless strokes. He can feel Mack’s muscled thigh shaking under his palm, and Link’s other hand lets go of Mack’s wrist, instead pressing his palm flat to Mack’s belly, feeling a sheen of sweat blooming under his touch. Link knows his mouth is talented and he knows exactly how to ruin a man.

Mack’s skin is scalding hot; he smells like citrus body wash and _man_ and Link is completely intoxicated off every little whimper Mack can’t stifle.

“Fuck, Lamont, I can _feel_ your fucking tongue _inside_ me. More...I… I _need…_ ” His voice breaks over the words.

Link chances a glance upward, taking in the look of near-panic on Mack’s face as he writhes under his mouth. Mack clearly didn’t anticipate not being in control, and the pitiful groans and gasps falling from his lips are making Link’s cock throb. Mack drops his hands from his own hair, one falling to his chest, the other reaching down to the nape of Link’s neck, holding him in place. 

“C’mon, Mack. Tell me you want it.” Link whispers and the words feel filthy in his mouth and burn all the way down to his cock. “No one else is here, bo. No need to be a tough guy. Tell me what you want.” 

Mack’s cock is leaking against his belly, smearing wet along his navel. His head thrashes back and forth as Link fucks him loose with his tongue, his thumb coming out to press into the tight ring, dragging him open even further. Link is torn between watching Mack’s face and focusing on his hole, but it doesn’t stop him from whispering words against Mack’s hot flesh. “Fuck, baby. Look at you, you’re gorgeous. Wanna make you fall apart for me. Can you do that, bo?” 

Mack is grinding his hips down against the leather, all shame abandoned as he rides Link’s tongue. 

“Say it.” 

“Fuck me, baby,” Mack chokes out, voice breaking. “ _Please_.” 

Link licks a stripe over Mack’s hole one last time, leaving it sloppy and wet, open and ready for him. His own cockhead is glistening, flushed purple and aching. The anticipation is killing him and he’s never wanted anything quite so badly as James Mack. 

“This okay? I haven’t…” He pauses, rubbing his tip along the crack of Mack’s ass. “Not with anyone else since —”

Mack shudders hard, eyes roiling hot. He arches his back, spreading his legs open even further. The message is all too clear. He cants his hips forward, demanding, “Fuck. Me.”

Link can’t stop the groan that spills from his mouth. It’s all he can do to wrap his hand around the base of his own shaft, squeezing hard to quell the impulse to cum before they’ve even started. 

“S’that what you need, baby?” Link pushes in and can’t tear his eyes away from watching the way Mack opens up for him, muscles twitching as Link splits him open. It’s filthy, completely obscene the way his cock slowly disappears into Mack’s body.

Mack takes him so easily, like their bodies had been waiting for the relief of being together again. Link luxuriates in the slick heat pulsing around him, of the feel of Mack under him, of how _right_ it all seems. He’s _so_ tight and _so_ hot and Link can barely breathe; the drag of flesh against flesh has him on the edge already.

“Ohh _fuck_ , oh god... I love that.” Mack pushes himself forward, leaning in to watch Link sliding in and out. “ _Fuck_ , Lamont, I don't know which is better. Your mouth or your fucking _cock_. So fucking long.”

“You feel that? God, I’m so fucking deep in you— taking my cock _so good,_ baby.” Link’s voice is shredded, his hips drilling forward on instinct alone. His hands are all over Mack’s body— palming at his hips, his belly, pulling at his thighs until they’re hauled up around his own waist— desperately trying to get even deeper, closer. His brain is filled with white noise, all thoughts abandoned; there’s only him and Mack and this moment that’s stretching out forever.

Mack is clinging to him, one hand fisted in the hair at the nape of Link’s neck, the other sinking his nails into the flesh of Link’s hip, holding him close. He’s a wreck, looking as shaken and frenzied as Link feels, trembling beneath him. They’re both panting fast and hard, breathing in the scent of sex and heat between them. Link’s lungs are on fire, his blood boiling in his veins, every muscle screaming to keep up with the punishing pace he’s working as he fucks Mack mercilessly. 

“Please.” The word is ripped out of Mack’s mouth, breathless and laden with things he can’t bring himself to say. He presses his sweaty forehead to Link’s, their noses grazing against each other’s cheeks with every thrust. 

Link pulls away just enough to look him in the eye. They’re teetering on the edge of something, he can feel it. They’re careening headfirst into uncharted territory and all he has to do is convince Mack to let go, to give himself over to it. To be in this with him, together, one hundred percent. “ _Please_ what, _Rhett_?” 

Link watches the expression change over Mack’s face, the lust in his green eyes shifting into wonder and shock in equal measure. For a moment, Link is terrified he’s broken the spell they’ve been under. 

“Please kiss me, Link. _Please_.” Mack chokes out a sob, voice broken and wanting, and Link can’t deny him the press of their mouths together. It’s everything he’s been missing for weeks now, like a first breath after being caught beneath frigid rapids. He knows Rhett is tasting himself when he licks into Link’s mouth, with every filthy slide of Link’s tongue over the bigger man’s bottom lip. They’re both drunk with proximity, crushed together under the weight of long-held denial and dizzy with the sensation of giving in after all this time. 

Link pulls back to drag in a shuddering breath, lips still grazing against Rhett’s when he finally catches his breath. He speaks, words filled with brutal honesty. “Love fucking you, being _in_ you. Never wanna stop.” 

“Fucking _love it_ when you kiss me.” Rhett crushes their mouths together again, teeth clicking as they fight to find the right angle. He’s biting at Link’s lips like he wants to devour him. “Love it when you kiss me while you _fuck_ me. Don’t _ever_ fucking stop, Link.” 

Hearing his name on those lips, in that timbre- it’s gasoline on the inferno building inside him. 

“You’re mine,” Link huffs, hips erratic, the sharp pulse of climax creeping up his spine. 

“ _Yeah,_ ” Rhett chokes out. His throat is red and blotchy and his breathing is shallow and rapid; every inhale rattles in his lungs as he takes absolutely everything Link has to give him. 

“Say it. _Tell me_.” 

“Yours… fuck. I’m yours, _please_.” 

“Cum for me, Rhett.” Link orders, voice trembling; he can feel the tell-tale flutter of muscles surrounding him. Rhett’s close, and it won’t take long before Link is following him under. “C’mon baby, give it to me. I want to feel you cum on my cock.” 

The sight unraveling below him is too much for Link; it’s devastating and beautiful, and it completely steals his breath from his lungs. Mack is writhing, like the heat coursing through him is too much to bear, and he’s clinging to Link, drowning under the current of his own pleasure. When he finally gives in, he pulls Link down with him. 

* * *

Morning wakes Link with a chill. His mouth is dry and his eyes are swollen, and he’s not quite sure where he is at first. Every muscle in his body screams from the exhaustion of spending the night christening every inch of their office.

 _The office,_ he thinks, dumbly. 

_Our office._ Another thought. _Rhett._ And _Link._

_Us._

Late morning sunbeams pour in through the window, scattering over the office like a kaleidoscope. Link blinks sleep from his eyes, surveying the office and taking in the damage. His clothes are in a pile next to the couch. He snatches up his boxers, pulling them up his legs.

His body is marked with contusions, hand prints on his hips, his thighs. He can feel bruises sucked into the curve of his neck. He can trace the sting of nails dug into the skin of his ribs. All of it is evidence of a long-brewing storm, finally crashing into shore. 

It’s quiet. The stillness is deafening, suffocating. 

The markings on the whiteboard are smeared where Rhett pressed him against it, whispering forbidden words into his ear and making promises he never planned to keep. Every surface bears the traces of their passion, but the room feels scorched and barren, destroyed in the wake of their heat. 

His heart constricts painfully as he takes in the wreckage around him. He can’t breathe, heart sinking as the truth slams into him. 

He’s alone. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something Rhett was supposed to do today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you endlessly to everyone who messages me about this story. I want these boys to have an ending they deserve. It just might take a while to get them there.
> 
> thank you as always to secondhand-watermelon for making it shine. for pinecontents for always yellin' at me to write my story, and for themouthking for always demanding more. And to mythical-ross for being my constant muse.
> 
> Also, thank you to Rhett, for bringing back the man bun that inspired James Mack in the first place.

There was  _ something _ Rhett was supposed to do today. 

His head is pounding, eyes dry like a desert, bile rising hot in his mouth. When he tries to sit up in bed, the room tilts on its axis and he slumps back into his nest of pillows. Even to his still-inebriated senses, the room smells dank and stale, like days of sweat and cum and regret.

_ Regret. _

The word bounces around in his head, not quite finding a place to settle. There is something cold, something hard and round pressed into his belly, and when he digs his hand underneath himself to investigate, he pulls out a nearly empty bottle of bourbon. He twists the cap off, tipping his head and knocking back the last dregs of the bottle. His mouth tastes rancid, and the liquor burns like acid all the way down his throat. He exhales the vapors back out, breath hot like fire. A thought keeps nagging at him, but he is reluctant to acknowledge it. 

_ You’re ruining everything.  _ A message on his phone that cut straight through to his heart. 

“Already ruined everything.” The room is quiet in response, and even the sunlight beaming in feels oppressive and cold somehow. 

Rhett lets the empty bottle slide off the bed before stretching a long arm out to find his phone on the nightstand. The screen refuses to light up, and he’s vaguely aware that he hasn’t charged it in days. _ You’re ruining everything. _

He can’t face what he’s done, the way he acted. He’s always ran from feelings too big to contain. He couldn’t listen to the messages or read the texts that were undoubtedly waiting to pass judgment. 

Or even worse, he can’t face the idea that they’re  _ not  _ there. That… well, that  _ someone _ will have given up on him by now. 

“Shroedinger’s fuck-up,” he tells no one. He can’t even bring himself to laugh at his own fucking joke. 

_ Fuck _ , his head is pounding. He knows there’s something he was supposed to do. He knows there’s something he’s forgotten, because he set it all up. He sent out the emails, and he made the phone calls. He was in charge, just like he always is. And all Lamont needed to do was show up on time and know his lines. 

_ Lamont. _

There’s another rush of bile filling his mouth, and he can’t even make it out of bed before it’s spilling out, covering his chest and stomach.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Can you sign this please?”

Rhett drags his eyes up from a line of broken code that he can’t figure out how to fix. He’s been staring at it for forty-five minutes and somehow, despite the one year of web design he took in community college and everything Google has to offer, he can’t work out why the website script won't work. It would be easier to hire someone to do the work for him, but a decision like that would require two signatures, and one of those would have to come from Link. 

Not Link,  _ Lamont _ . 

His heart constricts painfully in his chest just thinking  _ his _ name. 

“Fuck, Stevie, I didn’t hear you come in. How long’ve you been standin’ there?”

“I’m just here to finish up some bookkeeping, seeing as we don’t have an accountant yet.” She drops a stack of paperwork on his desk, at the top of which is a leatherbound ledger. Her voice is exasperated, seemingly annoyed at the mere sight of him. “I need you to sign these. Right now.”

Rhett lifts the ledger, surprised by how heavy the book is. “What’s all’uh this?”

Stevie rolls her eyes at him. She does that a lot. It annoys the fuck out of him, but she’s effective at her new role, more or less running the business in all the ways he’s not capable. “These are all of the people we still owe money to after you pulled your little no-show act the other day.”

Rhett’s stomach sinks as he reads the numbers printed cleanly onto each check. He knows it’s precious capital that he’s wasted, and he feels like an idiot. 

He’d been punishing himself for the better part of a week, taking out his frustrations on his liver and his brain. Still running from that morning and everything that he refused to acknowledge after. 

They had a scene to shoot, a script written, and a full crew already hired. Instead of being a professional and prepping for the scene, Rhett had spent the night before the shoot drinking away the memory of Link wrapped up in his arms, his smart mouth blissfully quiet in repose. 

Rhett woke up the afternoon of the shoot with the hangover from hell, face swollen and bloated, his own sick all over his chest. He couldn’t face himself in the mirror, much less present himself in front of a camera. Stevie and Jen had spent the entire day trying to call him.

He grabs a pen from the gaudy orange mug on his desk, drumming it a few times on the paper of the ledger, before slowly and methodically signing each check. He makes his way through the list, stopping at the final note.  _ Colby Keller. _

“Stevie?” 

“Hm?” Her annoyance at being interrupted drips from the one-syllable word. She doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone. 

“Stevie, why am I signing a check for Colby fucking  _ Keller _ ?” 

That grabs her attention, and when she drags her gaze up from her phone, there’s a gleam dancing alight in her deep blue eyes. She’s trying to hold back a grin; he can see her struggling with it. “Well,  _ Mack _ , we have to pay the man his  _ appearance fee _ .” 

“Stevie, we haven’t booked any shoots other than the  _ one.”  _ Rhett replies, scribbling his name in haste on the signature line. 

“Right,” she snips. “And when you didn’t show, Link called in a  _ favor _ so that the entire day wouldn’t be wasted.” 

“A favor.” The words are like gravel in his mouth and there’s bile inching up his throat. His chest feels tight, breath shuddering through his lungs, and he can’t stand it. “What do you mean, a fucking  _ favor _ ?”

She snatches the ledger out of his hands, spinning back toward the door with a toss of her hair. “The footage is in the editing bay.” She nods toward the dual-monitor setup at the desk in the back of the office. “Take a look for yourself.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He hasn’t even pressed play yet, and already his stomach is full of lead. His hands are ice cold, but his face is flaming red, teeth clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache. A still image of Lamont is staring up at him from the screen; he’s leaning coolly against the back of a charcoal-colored couch, a heather grey t-shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders.

Rhett has to force himself to swallow hard as he finds Lamont’s eyes on the screen. They’re  _ so _ blue, but something in them looks different. They’re not full of the usual spark Rhett loves to see looking up at him. There’s a tightness in the younger man’s face, and the smile he wears doesn’t look effortless. It looks like he’s putting on a brave face. A face that says ‘I don’t want to be here, but someone needed to be a fucking professional today.’ 

Rhett catches his own lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to feel a sting, and presses play. The footage comes to life. He watches as the cameraman steps in, closer to Lamont’s face, before pulling back just as quickly. It’s a cheesy porn trope that Rhett never would have let happen had he been there. He’s not interested in making cheesy porn. 

“Wasn’t really up to you though, was it, asshole?” he grumbles to himself. He knows he should be happy with whatever footage came out of that disaster of a day; he has absolutely no moral high ground in this matter. 

Lamont is staring into the camera, hooded eyes flirting while he toys with his shirt. He’s showing off his flat belly and Rhett’s fingers twitch at the ghost of a memory: his fingers stroking down the fine hairs dusted around Lamont’s navel, leading happily down into the dip of his waistband. Lamont is saying something into the camera, but Rhett can’t bring himself to unmute the footage, so he isn’t sure if Lamont is following his script. 

What he is sure of is the way his mouth goes dry when the cameraman pulls back far enough. Lamont’s long legs are wrapped in a pair of red pants that look like they were painted directly onto his skin, the hard line of his cock on prominent display. He fists the hem of his shirt in one hand, dragging it up to his sternum, while the other drops down to stroke his fingers over the ridges of his shaft before he pops the shiny silver button, nudging the zipper down until the head of his cock peeks out just above the open waistband of his pants. 

Rhett feels his own cock twitch, and the urge to reach through the screen is overwhelming. His brain is flooded with the memory of Lamont’s smell, warm like spice and man. He remembers the salt of Lamont’s skin, the sweet way he moaned into Rhett’s mouth each time he broke his own rules in order to kiss him. Lamont’s gaze isn’t on the camera anymore, it’s just off to the side, and Rhett hates it. He hates feeling like it isn’t him that Lamont is seeing, like his attention is pulled away to someone else. It’s eating at him, the thought of Lamont the pleasure of his company away to a cheap imitation of Rhett. 

Rhett is panting, tense huffs of air escaping through his nose. His head is pounding again, but when isn’t it anymore? His chest is so tight it feels like he can’t expand his lungs far enough to catch his breath. Lamont is quirking a finger, beckoning someone off screen to come closer. Another body comes into the frame. He’s tall, taller than Lamont, body wider, dwarfing Lamont’s tiny frame. He has a tousle of reddish-brown hair crowning a broad face, a strong jawline. He has a red beard, too. Rhett remembers Lamont’s words from the night they spent together. 

_ If you haven’t noticed, I kind of have a thing for red beards. _

“Fucking  _ Keller _ ,” Rhett curses out loud, hand slamming down on the metal of the desk. “Fuck, I’m not fucking drunk enough to deal with this.” 

But he can’t tear his eyes away. He can’t not watch as Keller tries his best to loom over Lamont, to bring their faces close together. He moves in to press his lips against Lamont’s, and Rhett’s stomach drops. But right before their lips meet, Lamont pushes at Keller’s chest, making him stumble backward with a confused frown. Then Lamont has his hands on Keller’s shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. For a fleeting second, Lamont breaks character and looks up at the camera, eyes a little bit wild; he motions for the cameraman to keep rolling. 

“He didn’t—” Rhett gasps, his quiet voice somehow booming in the silence of the studio. 

_ Lamont didn’t let Keller kiss him.  _

Something inside Rhett wakes up, screaming, refusing to let go of the tiny spark of hope blooming in his belly. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my thanks and appreciation to my tumblr-loves. 
> 
> _  
> My beta queen: Stephanie._
> 
> _And my enabler: Col_
> 
> _My Constant Muse: (and co-conspirator) Ross_
> 
> _My Conscience: Lindsay_
> 
> _My sweet Cheerleaders:  
>  Mina  
> Guru  
> Michelle  
> _
> 
> I'm thankful for all of you. You inspire me every moment of the day, and if not for you, this story would never see the end. 
> 
> For everyone who ever commented, or messaged me about these boys, Thank you. This started as a love letter to the fandom, and it remains the same.

The storm rolled in hours ago, rain pouring in from the sky in thick sheets. The clouds are so dark that the early evening sunlight can’t break through anymore; the only illumination the sky offers is an occasional jolt of lightning crackling through the air. 

Link is on edge, his tension-filled body stretched out on his leather couch in his living room, a lone flame dancing in a candle jar on his coffee table. It’s filling the room with a scent of smoky cedar and a warmth that is familiar but not at all comforting. He’s been lying there for hours in the mounting silence of the room, the soundtrack of the storm a perfect metaphor for the unrest in his heart. 

_ “You’re absolutely sure about this?” _

_ Stevie didn’t sound entirely convinced as she watched him sign his name to the papers, his intent to sell his shares of their company written clear as day in every line on the form.  _

_ He wasn’t. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.  _

_ “It has to be like this. You’ll make sure he gets them, right?” He  _ wasn’t _ sure, but he didn’t know what else to do.  _

_ She nodded, forcing a tight smile when she slid the documents into a Manila envelope, folding down the metal brads to seal it shut. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”  _

He woke that morning, weeks ago, in the wreckage of what would’ve been a beautiful afterglow, a new meaning to their  _ partnership _ . What could have been, if only Rhett hadn’t given up before it even had a chance to begin. 

Link’s wasted far too many hours reliving the last moments between them. It felt like they finally found each other in the quiet of their shared office; they finally dropped the pretenses they’d hid behind for so long and they let themselves just be _Rhett_ and _Link. I’m yours,_ Rhett whispered into his mouth _,_ and foolishly, Link let go of every ounce of restraint he had left, annihilated every last defense he had built over the years they had circled each other like jungle cats, willing to destroy each other in the wake of their passion. They stood at a precipice for so long, and it felt like they finally agreed to jump. It seems now that Mack let Link take the plunge without him. 

Instead, Link woke up alone, his body naked and bruised. He gathered his clothes, layering each article back onto his body to hide the growing stain of shame spreading from his head to his toes. Slowly, piece by piece, he put the office back together, righting overturned furniture, refilling boxes that had spilled over the floor. He removed the evidence of their transgression from every corner of the building, and promised himself he’d never fall for Mack’s promises again.

It took every ounce of willpower for him to show up for their next scheduled shoot. Link’s always been a professional, but in the wake of everything, he felt raw, vulnerable. He felt powerless, again. Mack had a nasty way of reducing Link to his deepest insecurities, and that day was no different. He turned up to the set, ready to put on the Neal Lamont mask, do his work, make his money, and call it a day. When he arrived, he immediately knew something was off; panicked faces ran all around as the PA came up to him, asking him if he had seen Mack. No one had heard from him all morning, and Stevie and Jen were taking turns trying to reach him.

As the hours passed, it was obvious that Mack wasn’t going to show. Link stepped up and made the arrangements to have Keller fill in. It solved the issue for the day, having someone stand in to make sure the shoot went off, and the money wasn't wasted, but it certainly wasn’t a fix for the greater problem.

In the end, Link couldn’t even fully complete the scene, stopping halfway through the shot with Keller on his knees, the feel of his too-auburn beard against Link’s palm. The sight of the  _ wrong _ broad shoulders under him made his stomach ache and left him gasping hard for breath on the edge of panic and he had to stop the scene. 

Their producer assured him they had filmed enough that they could use what they had of the scene as an advertisement for the site, a quick little taste of something to get viewers pulling out their credit cards. The thought of emotionally breaking down doing the thing he does best shook something deep inside of Link; it awakened a sleeping beast wanting to tear its way out of his body, to find the one causing the pain and make them pay. A few days later, he found himself handing Stevie the papers that would sever his ties to Mack and their company for good.

Now thunder rolls outside, rain pelting in staccato against the windows. The rhythm is calming to Link’s heart. He imagines the water cascading over his own body, washing away the hurt and shame that he still can’t seem to shake. 

Today is the day. The paperwork should be in  _ his _ hands by now. Link can picture Mack tearing open the envelope, the muscles of his arms tense, his hands clutching the edge of his desk as he reads through the document, the tendons of his neck flexing as he works out how best to channel his anger. His frustration. His  _ hurt _ . He can easily imagine how Mack’s brow would furrow, the heat brewing in his green eyes as they rove over the document, taking in Link’s surrender, line by line. 

_ I, Charles Lincoln Neal, III, hereby relinquish… _

The thought of Mack’s reaction makes Link’s stomach clench with something dark and forbidden. 

Link has always been a glutton for Mack’s brooding intensity. He hasn’t seen that dark glint in Mack’s eyes in weeks, but his body hasn’t quite gotten the message yet. His cock throbs hard in his sweatpants and his traitorous hand slides over the cotton of his t-shirt, slowly finds its way under the waistband, toying with the elastic before curling tightly around his shaft.

He allows himself one rough stroke, in a bid to relieve the pressure that always seems to build at the thought of Mack’s golden body and his sharp tongue that cuts straight through to Link’s heart. It’s sick, the way his body still responds to the thought of Mack, even when his brain and his heart know better by now. 

He can still taste the salt of Mack’s throat under his tongue, can still hear the unmistakable edge of want when he growled Link’s name into the air between them. The memory makes his chest ache, makes his eyes swim. He allows himself one more stroke, the slick wetness of precum making the slide easier than should be allowed. 

“Stop it,” he chokes out into the still air of his dark living room, a plea to the universe and his own body, a freezing wave of guilt coursing through his veins. He needs to stop torturing himself like this. It was over. It never should have even begun, but now it was over. 

It’s bad enough that he had to be the one to end it all, severing the last vestiges of their relationship with the scrawl of his pen. It was done, the wound cauterized, and the only comfort Link left was in knowing that time would heal the pain. Eventually.

There’s static in the air as a bolt of lightning brightens the sky outside his window. A beat later the flash is followed by a crack of thunder exploding through the clouds. Link jolts at the sound of someone pounding a fist on his door, the sound buried under the roll of the storm raging outside. 

“Who the fuck?” His throat feels raw, voice breaking from the lack of use for hours on end. He drags himself off the couch, tucking his hard length into the waistband of his pants on his way to the door. 

The insistent person on the other side is still knocking against the wood. He doesn’t bother to look through the peephole. He throws the door open wide, a rush of cold air flooding in with the rain. 

“Link.” The gruff timbre of Rhett’s voice is like a sledgehammer to Link’s heart, the sound of it sending a jolt of desire straight to his sex. Rhett is standing in the doorway, illuminated by the porch light, completely soaked from head to toe. His hair is slicked back with rainwater; it looked like he tried to push it out of his face before knocking. 

Link struggles to find his breath. He fights the impulse to reach a hand out and fist the maroon shirt that is clinging tightly to Rhett’s broad chest. His blue jeans are practically black where they are plastered to his thighs. Rhett’s left hand is curled around the doorframe, letting his long body lean into Link’s home. The other hand has a Manila envelope fisted tightly in its clutches. Rhett does his best to even his own breaths, body vibrating with what could be desire or fury, and Link isn’t sure either of them can tell the difference anymore. 

“Link, what the  _ fuck _ is this?”

“Rhett.” Link can’t stand the shake of his voice. His body is drawn tight like a bow. Every instinct in him is screaming to fight, or to flee, and both options are far too much for his exhausted body. He swallows hard and tries again. It’s the closest they’ve been in weeks, and Rhett’s looming height is making him feel  _ so _ small. His fingers itch to curl around Rhett’s arms, to pull him in close and kiss him until they’re both breathless again. Instead, he croaks out, “Rhett, you need to  _ leave _ .” 

Rhett’s still breathing hard; every desperate gulp of air he drags into his lungs expands his broad chest. His eyes are dark, like the storm raging behind him, and Link is caught in them, drowning. Rhett throws the envelope down at his feet, pushing his way past the threshold until he’s right in Link’s space, their bodies impossibly close but still not quite touching. 

“You need to go, Rhett. This, between us? It’s done. We can’t…”

The furious  _ no _ that bursts from Rhett’s lips is drowned out by the low moan pulled from Link’s throat as the familiar sting of Rhett’s hands bite into his biceps, the bigger man dragging Link up against his body. A sob shudders through Rhett’s body. He brings one hand up to the back of Link’s head, holding him in place like he’s afraid Link will disappear. 

Link wants to. He wants to run. He wants to cry. He wants to hit Rhett until they’re both bloodied, until both their bodies match the raw feeling clawing at his heart. Instead, he sinks his own hands into Rhett’s damp curls, giving into his desperate kisses, both their lips demanding the apologies neither are prepared to give. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes according to plan, chapter ten should be the end for these two, for better or worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Liking, Commenting and Subscribing! You know what time it is! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ soho-x.tumblr.com


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